


The Devil Wears Burberry

by cuphugaddict



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Devil Wears Prada, F/M, M/M, Special Appearances, Thomas and Jimmy are flat mates and Alfred is not a fan of that, Twisted relationships, only brief mentions of F/M, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphugaddict/pseuds/cuphugaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Devil Wears Prada AU:</p><p>Thomas is forced to take on a job at the glamorous high fashion magazine COUTURE in London - and henceforth has to deal with the moods of the editor-in-chief, infamous Philip Crowborough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this idea formed in my head and I just went along with it - without having the slightest idea about the fashion industry in the first place. So please be kind and look over some basic errors I surely have put in there involuntarily.
> 
> Moreover I have to warn you, my potential readers, that I have twisted the relationships of the series quite a bit; but you will see about that if you choose to continue reading (which I truly hope you do).
> 
> Something else I forgot to mention? ... Oh yes, I am not a native speaker and as this story is unbetad, all the mistakes are mine ^^

 

As the elevator opened with a silent _bling_ and thus granted Thomas his first look into the lobby he instantly knew that he didn’t belong here, not in the slightest. Everything was either marble, glass and/or white – except for the word COUTURE, which was written in black letters and dominated the room. Under said letters a young blonde woman, dressed in black (presumably to fit COUTURE) sat at a table and was typing furiously onto her computer.

 

Thomas took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. This wasn’t ideal – far from it, actually – but desperate times (and lack of money) called for desperate measures. And that meant that even he was willing to take a job interview as an assistant for a fashion magazine. During his time at university, he had imagined working at renowned newspapers or even magazines, probably as a foreign correspondent or something of that sort.

But life was never easy for him and therefore, he didn’t have any luck with his original plans. After he had collected a pile of rejections from his second (and even third) choice newspapers he had stumbled across the call for an assistant at COUTURE, one of the world’s most famous fashion magazines. And even though Thomas liked to look his best, there was only so much you could do with a budget as limited as his. Accordingly, he knew next to nothing about haute couture – a few brands that he usually stumbled across while reading his newspapers at best.

 

As he had never been the person to shy away from a challenge though, he squared his shoulders and approached the girl at the front desk.

 

“Good morning, I have an appointment with ...” Thomas fumbled with the piece of paper in his hand, “uh, Mary Crawley ...?”

 

“Thomas Barrow?” a slightly shrill and definitely disbelieving voice hollered through the marble lobby. As Thomas looked up he saw a slender woman with a bob, wearing a purple glittery dress with millions of necklaces. The colour of her lipstick matched the dresses’ exactly.

 

 _What the bloody hell?_! Thomas thought, but put on a smile and nodded in her direction.

Even though Thomas couldn’t deny that the women was pretty – if you liked that sort of thing – he briefly wondered if she had stayed up all night and had come directly to the office in her night-out outfit.

 

“Great! Human resources must have an odd sense of humour. Follow me.” She said once she had given Thomas’ attire a critical look (Thomas would never have guessed that her eyebrow could rise _that_ high) and turned on her heels, stalking back into the office. Thomas did his best to follow her.

 

“So, I have been Philip’s second assistant for the last three years but his first assistant recently ... left and now, I am first.” While the dark-haired woman checked if her perfectly styled hair was still in place, Thomas struggled to keep in pace with her. He pondered on how fast you could walk in stilettos.

 

“So you are basically replacing yourself then”, he tried to diffuse the tension.

 

“I am trying although Philip fired the last two candidates I picked.”

 

“Oh! Well ... Who is Philip?”

 

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, gave him an even more disapproving-slash-shocked-slash-I-am-going-to-get-a-heart-attack-due-to-your-stupidity-look than just mere seconds ago at the front desk. It only lasted a moment before she re-started racing in an unknown direction.

 

“I just have to pretend you didn’t just ask me that. He is the editor-in-chief of COUTURE, not to mention a legend – at the age of 32. You work one year for him and you can get a job at any magazine you want. People would kill for this position.”

 

Thomas could feel himself smile at that statement. “Oh, that’s marvellous. Doubtlessly a great opportunity, I would love to be considered.”

 

At that particular moment the two of them reached a small office that led into a spacious one with glass windows overlooking basically every part of London.

 

Mary Crawley turned again, with a sneer on her perfect face and even a barely-audible chuckle.

“Thomas ...” she said as if she would explain something to a three-year-old (although Thomas doubted that she would ever get near one of those), “... COUTURE is, as the name already suggests, a magazine for haute couture. So at least some basic knowledge on that subject is crucial for that position you had the unexplainable idea to apply.”

 

Thomas, for once, found himself to be a loss of words, at least for a brief moment. “What makes you think that ...” he started but couldn’t finish as the iphone in Mary Crawley’s hand started beeping.

 

The events that followed afterwards happened too quickly for Thomas to understand them in their entirety, but what he realized was this:

The otherwise cold and unmoving face of Mary Crawley moved into a brief expression of sheer horror, she screamed three (or four) times “NO!”, ran past Thomas to the glass door, shouted “He’s arriving” into the white corridor, ran back to (supposedly) her desk, screamed the same thing into her phone at approximately the same time a brown-haired woman burst through the office door, almost knocked Thomas over, asked who he was and Mary Crawley answered that she couldn’t even begin to explain that subject at that very moment.

What Thomas noted on the side was that the before rather calm office had changed into chaos of the highest possible dimension as people threw things (food, shoes) into their wastepaper baskets, refreshed their make-up (even some of the men – _what?!_ ) and ran from office to office shouting that everyone should hurry up.

 

If Thomas wouldn’t have felt out of place beforehand already, he bloody sure would have at that very moment. It appeared as if he wouldn’t even exist. And as he got run over for about the fourth time, he decided that he would sit down at a desk. Not Mary Crawley one’s, mind ... but the empty one. He heard an “Elevator’s moving” from outside, at which Mary started sprinting towards the elevator which was – sadly – out of Thomas’ sight. He would have loved to see who got out of it, but doubted that that particular person would move anywhere else except the spacious office to his right. So he would at least get a glimpse.

 

At the _bling_ of the elevator, that Thomas was already familiar with, the whole office fell into complete silence. So the man currently sitting at the empty desk could hear – even if not fully understand – a very calm and definitely posh male voice, sometimes interrupted by Mary Crawley’s “I’m terribly sorry” or “Actually I did confirm that”. As the two voices as well as their steps approached, Thomas could make out more of the man’s words.

 

“I don’t understand what is so difficult about getting me a tall, handsome, slender and graceful polo player for the Ralph Lauren shoot. Tell me Mary, am I reaching for the stars here?”

 

“Of course not. I’ll see to that”, he heard the woman gasp.

 

“Do that. And while you’re at it, make sure that we have the pictures of Keira on our desks by tomorrow afternoon ... I’m pretty sure we’ll have to make quite a few corrections there ...”

 

This was the moment when both appeared in Thomas’ field of vision.

The dark haired man truly was taken aback. The new arrival – Philip, without a hint of doubt – didn’t fit his expectations at all. He knew by then that he was only 32, but to be completely honest, the man appearing didn’t seem a day older than 25. He looked almost boyish, with his (doubtlessly) soft brown hair, those round brown eyes, pink lips and fresh taint. But that was all that seemed young about that man. His posture was upright, his step was sure, his clothes had surely cost more than Thomas paid monthly for his rent and the way he observed everything going on in the office without even properly looking at anything in particular while getting out of his coat was downright terrifying. In short, everything about him screamed ‘power’.

 

It still did as he pulled each finger of his Burberry gloves (yes, even Thomas knew about that checked pattern), got out of both of them and slammed them along with his coat onto Mary’s desk. “Furthermore I want you to confirm dinner with Tom Ford next Tuesday but make sure the driver picks me up at 9:30 sharp.”

 

“9:30 sharp” Mary repeated and tipped into her iphone as both crossed Thomas’ range of vision into Philip’s office.

 

“And who’s that?” he heard the man ask.

 

Mary took a step which Thomas thought would cover him up from the bosses view while uttering, “No one really ... Well, human resources have sent him up here for the position of your second assistant, but he’s hopeless and absolutely ...”

 

Philip cut Mary Crawley off immediately, “Since the last two candidates you chose have proven to be completely unacceptable, incapable and therefore highly inappropriate for that position, I will have to conduct that interview myself. Send him in. That’s all.”

 

Mary came stalking out immediately. “He wants to see you now.”

 

Thomas got up and reached for his brown leather bag, which promptly got snatched away by the terrifying woman. “Don’t let him see it, it’s hideous! In. NOW!”

 

Thomas couldn’t see any other way as to follow the orders directed towards him and carefully approached the man in a dark grey suit, sitting at the desk in his office, glasses on and flipping through some expensive magazine. Thomas carefully cleared his throat.

 

“What’s your name?” the young man – well, younger than he himself, mind – asked without looking up from the pages of his magazine.

 

“Thomas Barrow ... It’s a pleasure to meet you”, he added at an afterthought.

 

“Hmmm ...”, the man only answered, “And what might you be doing here, Thomas Barrow?”

 

“I think I could do an excellent job as your assistant ... Sir.”

Oh how he hated to address somebody younger than him with ‘Sir’. At that the other man looked up and eyes Thomas critically over his glasses. The interviewee decided that that was the perfect moment to push his CV onto the desk in front of him. Such a chance might never come again.

 

“Regardless of whether I hire you or not, never call me _Sir_ again.” Thomas blushed slightly and nodded instantly. He waited for the other man to speak up again, but he only fixed him with an icy cold stare. Thomas started feeling like a trapped rabbit. Finally – _finally_ – that man took his glasses off and seemed to go on with the interview.

 

“I can see that you are ...” a quick look on Thomas’ CV and a raise of his eyebrows, “huh, 38. Well, how did you come to apply for a job here at _your age_?”

 

To be fair, Thomas had braced himself for that question. It was a bit unusual as he had to admit to himself. “I had a bit of a rough start, so to speak. I could only afford the according studies ... later than the average student.”

 

“I see. So you didn’t have the money before ...”

 

 _Bloody spoiled brat, I’m certain you never had to fight for a thing in your life_ , Thomas thought.

“That’s quite right”, he said.

 

“Hm. So at least you have conviction, I give you that. That lack of money though means no knowledge of haute couture ...”

 

“I wouldn’t put it like ...” Thomas started but got interrupted immediately.

 

“No, no. That lack of exquisite taste wasn’t a question.”

 

Thomas gulped.

 

“And I take it that before today, you haven’t gotten a single look at this magazine or knew who I was ...”

 

 _Bull’s eye_. “Uh ... No. I’m afraid not.”

 

Philip fixed him again with this icy stare as he leaned back in his chair. Thomas thought that a little effort on his side couldn’t do any harm – meaning: make this awkward situation any worse.

 

“I know what you’re thinking now”, he started.

 

The editor-in-chief seemed almost amused, “Do you, now? Well then, by all means, enlighten me, Thomas.”

 

“You think that I am too old, too plain and, above all, too middle-class to be part of your glamorous magazine. But let me tell you, I learn fast. I am used to hard and reliable work and I know just how to organise things properly. I had to do that all my life. So if you could give me a chance I’m sure I will ...”

 

“The pictures of Keira are here but I’m afraid whoever was in charge of the shoot forgot or simply ignored the fact that she has given birth not long ago. The dress is horrid ... and doesn’t do her a favour at all ...” The woman who had asked before who he was pushed past him and dropped a folder with pictures onto Philip’s desk, who tore his stare away from Thomas and focused his attention on the pictures.

 

“Thank you for ... your ... time”, Thomas said and retreated, past the intent stare of Mary Crawley back into the elevator and down into the hall of the building, where he felt more at home immediately. He took a deep breath. At least he had tried, hadn’t he? That was the most important part ... now he could look for more suitable positions, maybe there’d be something in the paper – or even online – by tomorrow. He had learned to never give up hope and even if that hadn’t been always easy, he didn’t intend on starting to get unfaithful to that particular principle now.

 

Just as he set to get out of the imposing building, he heard the voice of Mary Crawley again: “THOMAS!”

 

He turned around on his heels to see the woman in the purple dress wave him over to her with a shrug.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a littler shorter than the first one ... Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless :)

 

“Wait! So you have gotten a job at a high fashion magazine? And you were wearing _that_? What, was the interview conducted over the phone?”

 

“Don’t be mean Alfred. I’m really happy for you Thomas”, Daisy smiled as she sat down across from Thomas, between Alfred and Jimmy.

 

“Thank you Daisy”, Thomas toasted into her direction.

 

The four of them were sitting at Alfred’s little London restaurant that was his pride and joy, having late night dinner after everybody else had already disappeared. Daisy, an old friend of Thomas who he had met during his less glamorous days as a waiter, sometimes helped out at that place. Doubtlessly because she had a crush on Alfred for like forever – and that might have been fine, if there hadn’t been Ivy, the kitchen help at Alfred’s, which was actually (and most creatively) called _Alfred’s_ , who Alfred had a crush on. The problem there was that Ivy had a crush on Jimmy, who in return, had a crush on nobody in particular. And that Thomas was very aware of himself.

There had been this ungodly time when Thomas himself had a crush on Jimmy – and Jimmy had done nothing to crash his hopes – and therefore he had kissed the younger man one night out of the blue. At first, Jimmy had been upset, to put it mildly, but Thomas was happy that today, they were something like best mates. . Thomas had apologized, Jimmy had forgiven him and they had arranged themselves quite splendidly. They were flat mates too, mostly because none of them could afford a flat of their own.

 

Was that awkward? Most certainly. Did they care? Not really.

They always joked that an awkward constellation as they were was just meant to spend their time together. And so they did – like tonight.

 

“Philip Crowborough is famous for being unpredictable” Jimmy threw in before taking a sip of his wine himself. Needless to say, everyone sitting at the table cast his eyes in the blonde’s direction.

 

“There. How do you know him and I don’t?” Thomas asked.

 

Jimmy rolled his eyes, “I’m actually a girl.”

 

Thomas snorted into his glass of wine.

It was so like Jimmy to know about stuff like that. A waiter at a five star hotel himself, he always dreamed of a better, more glamorous life. Maybe that was Jimmy’s crush – fame and fortune.

 

“That would explain so much”, Daisy giggled while Alfred looked as if he had tasted the most awful sauce in his life. He still wasn’t comfortable with Thomas, the kisser, and Jimmy, who didn’t want to be kissed, living together. It didn’t fit well with his view of the world – not that Thomas and/or Jimmy cared.

 

“Don’t give him ideas, Jimmy” Alfred warned.

 

“Oh don’t worry Alfred, I’m not interested in girls”, Thomas sneered.

 

“Oi!” Jimmy threw in, obviously offended. Everybody started laughing.

 

 

 

“Seriously Jimmy, I think I need your help”, Thomas started up another conversation about his new job on their way home, “You know more about high fashion than I do ...”

 

Jimmy chuckled, “And there goes another cliché about gay men ...”

 

Thomas playfully nudged Jimmy into the shoulder and took another drag of his cigarette.

 

“Seriously though, you are going to be making tea and coffee and run errands. You think you’ll need a tux for that?”

 

Thomas chuckled, “I just might.”

 

Jimmy grinned into his direction as well, before turning all serious only a moment later, “I’m envious Thomas, I really am.”

 

The addressed one frowned, “Envious? Of me making coffee you mean?”

 

Jimmy rolled his eyes, “No ... But about you ... getting to know people. Models, designers, photographers. Important people I mean. Maybe you get to go to parties or even fashion shows too ...” Jimmy trailed off.

 

It had never occurred to Thomas that activities like those might also be part of his job. Other than Jimmy, he himself wasn’t as keen on the blinding lights as his flat mate.

 

“I seriously doubt that I, with my – and that is a quote – lack of exquisite taste will get invited to an event like a fashion show, Jimmy. And if I would, I could still bring you, couldn’t I?”

 

Jimmy’s face lit up immediately. “You would do that?”

 

Thomas shrugged, “Who else would I bring? Alfred?” Both men grinned.

 

Jimmy looked doubtfully at him, “You think you are going to be allowed to bring somebody?”

 

Thomas frowned, he hadn’t thought about that. “Probably not. But if, I know who I am going to ask.” Thomas grinned and Jimmy mirrored his action. “You would fit better with them than I do, that’s for sure”, Thomas added as an afterthought.

 

“What on earth does that mean?” Jimmy frowned.

 

Thomas sighed, “Well, for one, he mentioned my age ... And not in a respectful way.” Jimmy snorted. “Secondly, he doesn’t exactly think me the right person for a magazine about haute couture.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Not glamorous enough, I’m afraid”, Thomas chuckled, “I mean I know that I’m not exactly material for the front page but ...”

 

“No stop this at once, you whining moron.” Thomas raised his eyebrows at Jimmy’s outburst. “Bloody hell, you already sound depressed after the job interview. That’ll be fun in the future ... Now listen carefully, Mr. Barrow ...”

 

Thomas grinned, “I’m all ears, Mr. Kent.”

 

“As you should be. Right ... You are a fine man, Thomas. Inside _and_ out, no matter what some posh editor tells you. And you might not fall for all the newest fashion trends, but there is a reason why classical is called classical. And that’s exactly what you are Thomas Barrow. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Jimmy nodded to himself.

 

Thomas had to admit that for a second, he was speechless. He knew that Jimmy had forgiven him and yes, they had established a friendship which Thomas was truly grateful for, but Thomas didn’t know that this was how the younger man felt about him. If he was brutally honest to himself, he wasn’t even sure that the blonde was capable of such kind words.

 

“Goodness, what a speech! ... I’m almost sorry that Alfred didn’t hear it.”

 

Jimmy burst into a fit of laughter, and Thomas was happy to join him. “No, seriously Jimmy”, Thomas continued after they had calmed themselves a bit, “Thank you. I mean it.”

 

“I meant it too. And I could rehearse that speech and recite it in front of Alfred again. Preferably when one of his experiments in the kitchen has gone wrong. You know that I didn’t abandon the possibility of becoming an actor completely. I could do it ...”

 

“Even though it would be tempting, but better not give the poor fellow a heart attack ...” Thomas mused.

 

“Good person, inside and out ... Just as I said ...” Jimmy chuckled and playfully nudged Thomas in the side, who only flicked away the remnants of his cigarette and followed Jimmy to the underground station.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Thomas hurried over the busy street, his leather bag over one the shoulder and a bunch of suits draped over the respective under arm. Furthermore, he carried his mobile in one hand and four coffees from Starbucks in the other one. He frequently felt more like during his days as a waiter who had to do at least five tasks at the same time. Once the entrance of the magazine’s building came into view, Thomas sighed in relief but still hurried up even more.

 

When his phone had rung at half past six in the morning and Mary Crawley had ordered Thomas to come in “right this instant” and to bring Starbucks – “hot, and I mean hot Starbucks” – because Philip had decided, apparently at five o’clock in the morning, that he wanted to bring forward the run-through from this afternoon. Consequently, that led to everybody panicking in the office.

 

It was Thomas’ second day at work so presumably it was alright for him not to know what a run-through was, but as he stepped into the elevator (which took _ages_ to descend, of course it did) he promised to himself that he would google it as soon as he set foot into the office.

 

But as he hurried inside and pushed the glass door to his and Mary’s office open with his shoulder, he only caught a “Is there a reason why my coffee isn’t here yet? Has he _died_ or something?” from the editor. Somehow the raven-haired man doubted that there would be any time for looking particular phrases up – at least not judging by the people running around in the spacious office of the editor-in-chief.

 

“Oh my God, Thomas! Finally!” Mary exclaimed the moment he properly set foot into the office. The woman – today in a blood red blouse and a skirt (although Thomas was sure there was another phrase for that) in black leather – looked at him as if he were a vision; although not an entirely pleasant one. She snatched the Starbucks away from him and tripled of into Philip Crowborough’s office. Thomas just stood there, like a lost puppy, with the suits in his hand and didn’t know what to do. The situation didn’t improve by his new boss throwing a half-clothed man out of his office with the words, “Don’t ever dare to cross my range of vision again.”

 

Thomas was sure that he did look like a deer in the headlights as said man stomped out of the office and looked at him only muttering a “Good luck”. Needless to say, Thomas couldn’t find a single reason why the admittedly really handsome man didn’t meet the expectations of their dear editor.

 

“I expect those to be the YSL’s?”

 

Mildly shocked, Thomas spun around and saw the brown-haired woman from the day before, again in a black dress, smiling slightly at him.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Thomas almost stuttered. Well, almost.

 

The woman then chuckled and pointed at the suits draped over Thomas’ arm. “Yves Saint Laurent. The suits. For today’s run-through.”

 

“Oh! Yes”, Thomas felt like a downright idiot. He offered the suits to the woman who took them with a smile.

 

“I’m Phyllis Baxter, creative director.”

 

Thomas took the offered hand, “Thomas Barrow, second assistant. And quite new at that as you can probably guess.”

 

The woman chuckled, “Well, you’ll get used to everything in no time.”

 

“I truly hope so ...” Thomas said and looked over Phyllis shoulder at Philip, who knocked his glasses against the Burberry handkerchief folded neatly into the breast pocket of his jacket, frowning against something Thomas couldn’t see through the half open door and announcing, “That is the most horrible piece of garment that has ever been allowed into this office. Mary, I suggest you simply burn it – that’s the most useful this ... this monstrosity will ever get.”

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows at Phyllis Baxter, who only shrugged. “Let’s just hope these suits will cheer him up.” And with that she was on her way into the office, but turned around for a brief moment: “Something else: If he calls out for the ‘new Mary’ – that’ll be you.”

 

Thomas felt his jaw drop, “You can’t be serious ...”

 

“Just a little tip on the side”, the woman winked and hurried to show Philip Crowborough the suits. Thomas sighed heavily and rounded the desk he presumed to be his. Well, there was no way Mary Crawley could occupy two of them at the same time now, could there? Just as he had familiarized himself with the icons at his computer (Philip’s schedule, various extensive contact lists, an archive of the previous issues of COUTURE which Thomas promised himself to have a look at, a ‘under-construction’-programme for the forthcoming issue besides all the usual programmes) Mary strode out of the office again.

 

“Well, new me: You are going to mend the desk until I return from the art department, to which I have to deliver the book”, she announced as if she had found the cure to cancer.

 

Thomas frowned, “The book?”

 

The slender woman only rolled her eyes but turned to face Thomas and took a step in his direction. “ _This_ ”, she held up a bound book with notes and colourful post-it’s sticking out everywhere, “is the book”. She placed it on Thomas’ desk with the most care imaginable and started to slowly turn a few pages.

 

“This is a mock-up of the next issue”, she started but just as Thomas reached out to turn one of the pages himself, she slapped – actually slapped – his hand away. “Don’t touch it. A mock-up which is given to Philip once the departments consider their work done. And he brings it back on the next day with all his comments and suggestions.”

 

“Ah”, was all Thomas could manage to reply.

 

“Usually the book is the responsibility of the second assistant, but Philip is very private and henceforth, as long as he isn’t convinced that you are not a complete lunatic, I have the pleasure of waiting around for the book.”

 

 _Maybe he is afraid that someone will strangle him with his tie, once there aren’t any witnesses around_ , Thomas thought and fought to keep the spreading grin in check.

 

“Anyway, as long as I am in the art department, you have to make sure that you _do not_ leave your desk. The phone, listen very carefully Thomas: the phone must _always_ be answered. If one call gets to voice mail, Philip gets very upset.”

 

Thomas frowned, “Alright. But what if I ...”

 

“What? No!” At the tone of Mary’s voice Thomas felt as if he had just asked if he could borrow the Queen’s crowning jewels for a sec.

 

“The last girl who left the table because she sliced her hand open with a letter opener and Philip missed Lagerfeld before he went on a seventeen-hour flight to Australia now writes texts for leaflets in the underground.” Mary patted his back on her way out of the glass door.

 

Thomas nodded to himself, “Mend the desk at all times, got it.”

 

 

Just as Thomas was torn between prying that Mary would return soon and that none of the phones would ring as he had no clue which phrase to answer the phone with, he got reminded that he had forgotten to pray for – or rather against – something else:

 

“Mary? ... Mary!”

 

Thomas looked around in the office but needless to say, the requested woman didn’t suddenly appear out of the blue. What did appear was the head of Phyllis Baxter in the door that mouthed, “He means you”.

 

Thomas got up from his seat not quite believing what he was hearing. The chances of everything being a simple mistake reduced to zero the minute he put his foot into the editor’s office, though: “There you are! Do tell me: how many times do I have to scream your name until you graciously appear in my office?”

 

The addressed man fought hard to keep his jaw from dropping all the way to the floor. “Surely you have to realize that I had a little trouble identifying with the name Mary ...” Thomas started. With that he even managed to draw Philip’s attention away from the hallstand in the middle of his office.

 

The editor only raised his eyebrows, “Which is a complete and utter mystery to me, I have to say.”

 

Thomas thought that not even the high court would judge him guilty for his jaw dropping in that very moment. “I beg your pardon?!”

 

“Beg as much as you like”, Philip started and a smug grin spread across his face, “but I can hardly tell you apart: tall, dark hair, porcelain skin ... Well, now that you mention it, Mary is indeed a lot more slender than you are ...”

 

 _Yes, because she is a girl ..._ Thomas thought that he just might start to scream at the other man.

 

“... but she surely will apologise my inobservance in this case. Otherwise I’ll fire her.” Thomas just couldn’t stop staring at the other man and, in consequence, didn’t see Phyllis Baxter hiding her grin behind a jacket.

 

“Right, now we have that settled can I please come to the point why I decided to shout your name into your office in the first place?” Thomas considered this to be a rhetoric question, “Splendid. Now, I need thirteen skirts from Calvin Klein ...”

 

“What kind of skirts?”, Thomas asked immediately. He was not, however, braced for the answer:

 

“Please bore somebody else with your questions”, Philip replied and started prancing around in his office, “Moreover, I need to make sure that The Loft is booked for the photo shoot on Friday and confirm my appointment with John. Also, we need the interview with Christian a week before the deadline. And I’m afraid I have to talk to Sarah about our Gala – arrange something. ... Oh yes, and make sure that we have Jon Kortajarena for our cover for the next issue.”

 

At this Thomas managed to break the stupor this speech had put him in, “Jon Korta ...?”

 

He swore that the look he got from Philip would haunt his dreams for at least a month. “Kortajarena. Do get somebody – preferably him or his agent – on the phone ... That’s all. _Mary_.” As if his piercing stare hadn’t been enough already, the editor’s glance drifted down to Thomas’ gloved hand, which he had hoped the man in question wouldn’t notice, at least not right away. But thankfully, he didn’t say anything, at least not verbally. His eyes spoke for themselves though.

 

Thomas quickly stumbled out of the office backwards, only to see that the actual Mary had finally decided to return and was already on the phone to reach this man with the – at least to him – unpronounceable name. The second their editor had taken the call, the woman was in front of his desk.

 

“What did he want?!”

 

“Uhm ... He needs skirts, from Calvin Klein.” Thomas was truly proud of himself that he recalled that.

 

Mary took a deep breath as if it was her who needed to calm down after that disaster with Philip. “Did he say which skirts? What kind of skirts?”

 

“No ... I tried to ask him but ...”

 

The woman gaped at him. “ _What?!_ You are never to ask Philip anything, do you understand? ... Was there anything else?”

 

“Yes! Uh ... There was something about arranging whatever with Sarah for a Gala. And he needs the interview with Christian before deadline. Oh, and we should confirm the appointment with John ... Is John _Jon_?”

 

“I won’t grace this question with an answer, go on”, Mary replied at which Thomas concluded that she had been working for Philip too bloody long.

 

“There was something about a loft ...”

 

Mary wrung her hands. “Alright, I am going to deal with this, you are going to Calvin Klein.”

 

Thomas was sure that there was no room for arguments.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

In the first month Thomas worked for – survived – Philip and his precious magazine, Thomas had learned quite a few things:

 

First, there never was a day where Philip Crowborough appeared without any item from Burberry. Some days it was a scarf, on others the handkerchief, sometimes and umbrella or a coat. On some of his more flashy days he even wore a shirt or a bag of the brand. Then there were shoes and the watch, of course. One particular day, Thomas couldn’t find anything Burberry on the man – even the glasses lay on the desk in his office. The dark-haired man checked a few times while Philip threw either garments or orders at him – nothing. Thomas felt a ridiculous form of victory, which led to him telling Mary about his observation of that day. The woman only looked at him as if he was the most stupid person on the planet (something he had also gotten used to during the last month). “Well of course he wears Burberry ...,” she only replied. As Thomas had only lifted his eyebrows in question, she waved her perfectly manicured nails in the air. “It’s the cologne.”

_Of course it was._

 

Secondly, Thomas had learned that he could actually, if Philip should fire him (which could happen at any given moment), pursue a career as a super hero. Yes, like the ones in the comics. Not because he was particularly fond of the costumes of that profession, no. But he had learned that he could do things unimaginable to him before he had applied for this job. “I want that table I saw the other day at Oxford Street,” Philip had barked at him one day. Thomas had telephoned every single shop that might be selling furniture. Nothing. Then he had also asked at every clothing store Philip would set foot in if they had a table somewhere on display. No luck either. Just as he had grabbed himself some lunch on the way from getting some suits from Armani, he had another idea: He checked Philip’s schedule and collected all restaurants the editor had had lunch in only to telephone each of them. One of the waiters of the last restaurant on the list – how could it be any other way – told Thomas that Philip had “studied”, his words, their tables with great interest. Thomas talked them into selling one of them, hired a company to transport the damnable thing to Philip’s town house and didn’t get a thank you in return. Instead, the editor had thrown his coat – yes, Burberry – onto his table with a “Where is that note I had in my hand yesterday?” And just like that, Thomas dealt with each and every of Philip Crowborough’s requests.

 

As a third matter, everybody in the whole office thought him to be a joke of some sort – even as he performed his super hero matters. He wasn’t dressed sharply enough and therefore not as glamorous as requested for a staff member of COUTURE. Furthermore, he was too old – and for the first time in his life he felt like that too. Everybody whom he had to deal with on a daily basis hadn’t crossed the thirties yet – apart from Philip and Phyllis, who was probably the only one who had a smile and maybe a couple of nice words for him from time to time.

 

And finally, Philip Crowborough could change his moods in a matter of seconds. No, Thomas wasn’t thinking about the various models, designers and staff members who he frequently brought to the edge of tears – but on matters like the one happening that very day:

Philip was in a (for him) rather pleasant mood, only asked Thomas to bring him his lunch and coffee steaming hot and to cancel his appointment the next morning. Reason? None. At least none he cared to share with Thomas. But apparently the person on the other end of the line either didn’t mind or was already familiar with procedures of that sort and therefore, Thomas was free to go at about six in the evening. Something that hadn’t happened in ... well, ever. Even Alfred was complaining about him never coming around anymore and that surely meant something. So at lunchtime Thomas had called Jimmy, who promised to pick him up “So that this monster you have for a boss won’t change his mind”. Of course Philip had found something for Thomas to do last minute, but as Jimmy was never actually on time, it didn’t matter. Thomas returned at about quarter past six to his desk, only to find Jimmy standing already there. The assistant grinned at how his flat mate seemed to absorb everything about his current surroundings. Just as he spotted Thomas, he started waving. Thomas only grinned back in return and approached his desk.

 

“Hey there, old man. Ready to go?” Jimmy smiled brightly at him and Thomas nodded.

 

“Sure. I’ll just get my jacket ... Where are we ...”

 

“WHO ON EARTH ARE YOU THEN?” Philip’s voice suddenly hollered through the office.

 

Thomas already wanted to answer that question, but Jimmy was quicker, “Jimmy Kent. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Crowborough.”

 

“Well of course it is. But what I am interested in is why you are standing in my office?” the editor replied and didn’t even grace Jimmy’s outstretched hand with a single glimpse.

 

Thomas cleared his throat, “He is here to pick me up, Philip. We were just heading out ...”

 

“I see. I would kindly ask you in case you ever need to be picked up by some of your toy boys again not to do so in this or any other office of my magazine, do you understand ... _Mary_?”

 

Jimmy only gaped at the man opposite of them but Thomas was by then used to happenings like that one, “Yes, I am sorry. It will never happen again.”

 

“As I would bloody advise you to. No take your Mr.-Pretty-Face out of this building and I would prefer if he never came back.”

 

Thomas grabbed the arm of a perplexed Jimmy and dragged him in the direction of the elevator. Only when they were on their way down, the blonde found his ability to speak again: “Did he just call you Mary?!”

 

“Oh bloody shut up, will you?”

 

 

 

Needless to elaborate, that particular happening was discussed over dinner – at length.

 

“I mean, I knew that he was not an _easy_ person”, Jimmy started before he stuffed some of Alfred’s salmon mousse into his mouth, “but that was the face of pure evil I had to have a look at.”

 

Daisy giggled which was rewarded by a stern look from Jimmy, “If it had been you, you wouldn’t be giggling now, Daisy Robinson.”

 

“But why did he call you Mary?” Ivy, who had joined them for the evening, wanted to know.

 

Thomas sighed, “Well, Mary, who is now the first assistant, obviously was second assistant before me, so I guess that’s why.”

 

“And you just let him call you Mary?” Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

After a small sip of wine, Thomas answered: “He doesn’t always do it. Particularly when he is upset with something ...”

 

“Like today?” Alfred asked which led to Thomas shrugging, “Maybe he thought that Jimmy was some sort of intruder who wanted to spy on the articles and photo shoots of the next issue or something.”

 

“But now he thinks I’m your toy boy ... I can’t decide which option is more appealing ...” Jimmy added with a grin and Thomas only winked.

 

“He did say that you had a pretty face so I would selfishly go for the toy boy-option to restore my dignity.” Everybody at the table started grinning – except Ivy and Alfred, of course.

 

“Guys, seriously! Sometimes I really do question the nature of your relationship ...”

 

Jimmy gave Alfred his best smile, “And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

 

As Thomas was used to outbursts of Philip Crowborough like the one directed towards Jimmy, the 38-year-old didn’t think about it the next day anymore. Usually, Philip’s behaviour went back to normal after a good-night’s sleep, so to speak (although Thomas wasn’t sure whether that man ever slept). This time though, it was different:

As Thomas came straight into the studio they – which meant he – had booked for the photo shoot that day, Philip greeted him with a “Look who decided to grace us with his presence”. The raven-haired man immediately checked his watch – fifteen minutes early. Why the editor was already there was a mystery to Thomas.

 

“I’m sorry Philip, if I had known you would be here early, I would have ...” Thomas started, but got interrupted by the other man:

 

“Oh, never mind Thomas. So I had to check the equipment myself, in addition to the other tasks I had to fulfil this morning. But if this means that my second assistant finally gets a few hours of sleep after all, I’m happy to do your job as well of course ...” the younger man snarled and straightened his jacket.

 

 _FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLY_ , Thomas screamed inwardly. He took a deep breath and put on a well-practised smile.

 

“Philip, I am here now”, the other man snorted, but Thomas simply continued, “... and do everything that my job requires. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here before you got here and I also apologize for whatever I did to offend you.”

 

At that point, Philip only stretched out his hand and Thomas placed the Starbucks he got on his way here into said hand. He did have a month of practise after all.

 

“Never mind offending me, Thomas ...” Philip started and took a sip from the beverage. Thomas only raised his eyebrows in question. He wasn’t sure if this statement would lead up to something else or was only meant to be sarcastic in the first place.

 

“Oh goodness gracious!” the editor exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have thought you _that_ daft. What I meant was that it doesn’t seem to trouble you to ... _socialise_ with that blonde whippersnapper. It has to be barely legal, I’m sure of it.”

 

Thomas almost dropped his own Starbucks at that statement. First of all, he couldn’t get his mind about why Philip would even be thinking about Jimmy – it had, after all, been yesterday where both had met. Usually, his attention span wasn’t even remotely of that size. The blonde would doubtlessly be beyond flattered. Secondly, the editor had obviously thought about them buggering each other into next week, which also wasn’t an entirely pleasant thought. Thirdly, that thought seemed to trouble the man immensely. And finally, Thomas had never heard somebody make the word ‘socialise’ sound so scandalous.

 

Whilst some people were getting the set of today’s photo shoot ready in the background, Thomas struggled for words. A sight which Philip seemed to enjoy enormously.

 

“Listen Philip”, Thomas started after he had regained his composure, “not that it would be of your concern, but Jimmy and I are not together the way you think we are. He’s simply a friend whom I had dinner with. Actually, there were a few other people with us ...”

 

“Is there a particular reason why you are giving me this update of your private life, Thomas?” the other man sneered, “The reason why you think this would be of any interest to me remains a mystery, I have to say. Now, if you don’t mind going back to doing your job, make sure that everything is set for the shoot.”

 

The 32-year-old turned on his heels and left a completely stunned looking Thomas behind. Suddenly, he turned again and fixed Thomas with his icy stare after giving him a complete once-over: “Oh, and that ... that thing that you are wearing today? Don’t ever dare to turn up with that ugly excuse for a suit again. You are working for a high fashion magazine, for heaven’s sake.”

 

Thomas couldn’t do anything about his jaw dropping all the way to the floor. He stared stunned after the devil that he had the misfortune to have for a boss.

Suddenly, he detected some movement on his left. He turned his head and saw Phyllis slide up next to him and whisper: “When we’re at the office again, let’s see what I can find for you to wear, alright? And in return, you tell me what this is all about ...”

 

Thomas only muttered, “Deal.”

 

 

Today wasn’t Thomas’ lucky day, definitely not.

Everything that could potentially go wrong at a photo shoot did in fact go wrong. Which meant: the male model had a cold and sneezed every other minute, the make-up artist had forgotten at least half of her stuff, one of the shirts the model had to wear was ripped in half by some mystery force, one of the lights blew out and henceforth caused a small power cut, the photographer was late and furthermore happened to produce only turquoise pictures once he had arrived at the site.

 

And of course, all of it was Thomas’ fault – at least according to Philip bloody Crowborough.

The raven-haired man did everything in his power to reduce the damages to a minimum but nothing he did was good enough. The editor, who launched in his stuffed chair a good five metres away from the set, constantly insulted Thomas, respectively reminded him of his incapability, as he would have put it. So after an hour, where Thomas was just one more comment away from exploding, he snatched the camera away from the man who had the nerve to call himself a professional photographer and worked on the settings of the blasted thing. At once he realized that this stupid man had his high tech camera on “automatic”.

 

“Thomas?! What on earth do you think you are doing?” Philip’s voice hollered from somewhere behind him through the studio but the 38-year-old couldn’t have cared less.

 

He turned towards the model: “Sebastian, could you please do once again the things you have been doing for the past hour?”

 

The brunette sighed but nodded and put on the face everyone in the room was already familiar with, but not before sneezing again, mind. Thomas shot picture after picture and while doing so, he shouted orders at Sebastian and hoped the addressed one would hear them over Philip’s mental breakdown.

 

“What is that bloody man doing? ... Thomas Barrow, stop this right this instant! ... I can’t believe it. Do you even have any idea what you are doing you incapable excuse for an assistant? ... Somebody separate him from the camera. ... Are you deaf now too Thomas?”

 

Thomas decided for himself that he simply would not hear any of the friendly comments thrown at him by his boss. And suddenly everything went quiet – except for Thomas’ instructions for Sebastian and the clicking of the camera. The dark-haired man only mused that his pictures had finally started to arrive at the screen in front of the editor. That, or Philip Crowborough had suddenly dropped dead.

 

“They are good”, he heard Phyllis Baxter whisper – presumably to Philip and Thomas smirked. That only served the bastard right.

 

After about another hour, they had all the shots they needed and Philip called it a day, which meant that everybody was allowed to leave. Thomas went back to their original photographer and handed him the camera back. During Thomas’ shot he had once started complaining but Philip had shut him up immediately. Now that man didn’t dare to say another word.

 

Thomas helped himself to some tea and Phyllis again slid up next to him, “I have to say, Brava! That was quite something Thomas. Where did you learn to take pictures like that?”

 

The man shrugged. “At university. I took several photo classes on the side because I thought it might come in handy when being a journalist.”

 

“Wise decision”, the woman said and winked at him, “you saved the day.”

 

“Oh I wouldn’t go as far as that”, Philip, who had appeared out of the blue, dropped in, “but let’s put it this way: If you want, you are still allowed to wear that suit to work.” And with that, he grabbed Thomas’ cup of tea and went over to talk to Sebastian.

 

Thomas turned to Phyllis, “Nobody has ever said something this nice to me”, he whispered mockingly. The brown-haired woman burst into a fit of giggles.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

True to her word, Phyllis Baxter had kidnapped Thomas – which was just fine with said man, he didn’t have to spend too much time with Mary then – and both went to explore _The Depot_ of COUTURE. In the whole month that Thomas had worked at the magazine, he had never even heard about _The Depot_ , let alone set foot in it. So he had to admit that he was slightly curious. Though nothing he had previously imagined came even close to the truth:

 

_The Depot_ was located underground and had about the size of an arena – an actual arena. Everything was held in white. How could it be any other way? There were shelves over shelves of abandoned clothes, bags, shoes, accessories for both, men and women that were obviously stored if the need for any of those would ever rise again. “Just in case” Phyllis had said and winked at a truly stunned Thomas. As the latter was a tad overwhelmed by the sheer size of basically everything, Phyllis Baxter took it into her doubtlessly capable hands to pimp Thomas’ wardrobe, so to speak.

 

“You’re always wearing suits ... Why are you always wearing suits?” the woman asked and threw a pack of cardigans in Thomas’ direction, who had a hard time not letting them drop to the floor.

 

“Because they’re supposed to be elegant and timeless”, he muttered. Phyllis shot him a pointed look over her shoulder while she was rummaging through a hallstand with jeans. “And because I really don’t have anything else that Philip would tolerate”, he added as an afterthought.

 

Some jeans came sailing his way. “Those are too tight, come on ...” Thomas whined as he eyed one particular pair of black jeans. There was just no way he would fit into those.

 

“You have a fine arse. Don’t be afraid to show it. ... Rule number one around here.” Phyllis winked at him.

 

Thomas raised an eyebrow, “So, you’ve noticed my arse then ... Even in those horrible suits ...”

 

The woman rolled her eyes, “I didn’t say they were horrible. I only meant you don’t have to wear one each and every day of your existence. And yes, everybody noticed your nice backside, just to answer that one ...”

 

“Even Philip?” Thomas asked mockingly.

 

Phyllis turned around with a pointed look on her face, “Especially Philip.”

 

Both of them chuckled and went into a direction where Phyllis Baxter promised him some shoes.

 

 

Thomas felt like on those ungodly occasions a few years back where Daisy had talked him into going clubbing. Only that today, he didn’t have dim lights and shadows to hide in. No, he had to walk into the office he shared with Mary Crawley, his head held high and his “nice behind” in those skin tight black jeans, black leather boots, a grey cardigan and under said item an orange shirt. Orange!

Phyllis had told him that if he didn’t wear that exact outfit she had carefully selected herself the next day, she would tell Philip Thomas had volunteered to catalogue each and every piece of clothing for the run-throughs for the next six months. The dark-haired man would hate that terrible woman if he only didn’t like her that much. Probably because she was the only one who actually talked to him at work.

 

As the doors of the elevator opened and he stepped out, the girl at the front desk – Rose, apparently – looked up briefly, as on any other day, only to drop the pen she’d been holding. Thomas asked himself if those jeans had finally burst open somewhere. As the blonde kept staring, Thomas squared his shoulders, put on a sneer and walked straight into the office. What else should he have been doing, really? Until he reached the glass door which finally – finally! – led into said room, that particular thing happened a few more times. And no matter how well Thomas hid it, he felt deeply uncomfortable.

 

He sent a silent prayer to heaven as he had finally reached that glass door and pushed it open with a sigh.

 

“Already in a great mood, are we Thomas?” Mary greeted him as usual without looking up from her computer.

 

“Good morning to you too”, Thomas sneered.

 

“For heaven’s sake, try to ...” This was the exact moment in which Thomas thought that either the jeans or the orange shirt or the combination of the two of them was truly worth it: Mary Crawley gasped. Thomas had never seen her do that in the whole month he’d been working with her. The woman opposite him quickly regained her composure though, “Goodness, somebody has finally taken out the good stuff.”

 

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Was that an actual compliment in disguise?”

 

“Now that would be telling”, the slender woman grinned and looked back onto her computer.

 

Thomas put on a grin himself and tried to organise as many things as possible until Philip arrived – which happened about half an hour later. The editor rambled on about what apparently needed to be done preferably yesterday as he flung his trench coat and Burberry umbrella onto Thomas’ table without looking at him. Mary tripled after him into his office to take note of each and every order of the 32-year-old. So Thomas hung up the coat and put away the umbrella and waited until Mary would tell him what to do.

 

“Thomas?!”

 

Mary, who was on her way to her desk again, waved towards the office while Thomas already hurried into said direction. He found Philip already with his glasses on flipping through a magazine.

 

“Yes?” Thomas asked as the editor didn’t say another syllable for about half a minute.

 

“I expect you to be quicker as usual with your agenda today Thomas. To be precise, I want the confirmations for all of next issues' interviews, the contract for the models and the advertisers for the next run-through on my table by noon – together with lunch.”

 

Thomas sighed inwardly, “Of course. Will that be all?”

 

“But of course not Thomas. By then I expect ...” Philip trailed off as he finally put down his glasses and decided to cast the first look of the day in Thomas’ direction. The editor stared at Thomas and once again, he asked himself if something of his way too tight outfit had exploded. Philip pursed his lips, shook his head and cleared his throat: “What I was saying: By then I expect you to come here and look through the pictures of yesterday’s shoot. Phyllis will be here too. The two of us will be deciding which ones will be featured in the next issue and just in case we need a little input from the photographer, you see ...”

 

“Alright”, Thomas nodded and turned on his heels.

 

“Oh, and Thomas?”

 

The addressed one closed his eyes for a second before turning around. “Yes?”

 

“Tell Mary I want you to deliver the book tonight. That’s all.”

 

 

 

At half past ten at night, Thomas stood in front of Philip Crowborough’s town house. With shaking hands, mind. Though he was sure that everybody else who would have had to listen to that speech from Mary Crawley would be feeling just as awful as he did. “Guard this book with your life, Thomas!” she had said with the most conviction in her eyes that Thomas had ever seen in a human being. And then she had advised him further:

 

“It is of gave importance that you don’t make any noise. Zero, do you understand? ... You let yourself in, hang the suits from the cleaner’s into the wardrobe opposite of the stairs. Then you tiptoe – and I mean _tiptoe_ – to the desk with the flowers on it. This is where you leave the book. And then you go immediately. Don’t talk to anyone and under no circumstances make any noise.”

 

Those were the words of his dear co-worker. Yes, he had gotten that he wasn’t allowed to make any noise what so ever. Why though was a mystery to him. Philip wouldn’t be sleeping, that much was sure. He still had to comment on the book.

Thomas took a deep breath and turned the key. It couldn’t be that bad now, could it? He knew what he had to do and after two minutes tops, he would be out of there and on his way home. The raven-haired man turned the door knob and let himself in as quietly as possible. Only a second later he was about to let everything, including the precious book, fall to the floor.

 

There was a child standing in front of him. Right in front of the stairs. A girl in a purple night gown hugging an enormous plush rabbit.

 

_Fuck!_ Thomas thought.

 

“Hello!” the girl said and waved at him. “Who are you?”

 

‘Don’t talk to anyone’, Mary’s voice echoed in Thomas’ head.

_But what if there’s a kid in the hallway you stupid, stupid woman! What am I to do now Mary fucking Crawley?!_

 

“I-I’m Thomas, nice to meet you”, Thomas stuttered after a few moments.

 

The girl smiled, “I should already be in bed but I sneaked out”, she announced triumphantly.

 

“Well, you shouldn’t be doing that ...” Thomas answered and wanted to slap himself on the forehead. More importantly, he asked himself silently what a little girl was doing in Philip Crowborough’s house. For a moment the absurd thought that the editor had kidnapped the child in order to get an interview with somebody crossed his mind but quickly he mentally shook off the image. He wouldn’t do that. Or would he?

 

“But I can’t sleep ... And Papa didn’t tell me a good-night story. He said he’s busy but that’s sooo unfair ...” The girl basically strangled her plush rabbit by then.

 

Thomas only gaped. “Uh ...” he managed after a few moments, “Maybe your ... your Papa is busy?” It was more of a question really, even to his own ears.

 

“But he knows that I can’t sleep without my story. I want to know what happened to the knight in the ghastly armour ... and the pumpkin.”

 

“The pumpkin?” Thomas asked.

 

The girl nodded emphatically, “Yes, the pumpkin. It’s magical, you see. And ... I suppose it should help the knight to defend the dragon but I don’t _know_. And I want to ...” The girl bit her lower lip and Thomas couldn’t help but find it very endearing.

 

“Those need to go into the cupboard over there ...” the girl suddenly instructed while pointing at the suits in Thomas’ hands. That seemed to do the trick and sent Thomas out of his stupor. He approached one of the closets. “This one?” he asked.

 

The girl giggled which sent her black hair flopping around everywhere, “No, the one to the right.”

 

“Oh, alright. You mean this one, my lady?” Thomas curtsied and sent the girl again into a fit of giggles. After about a minute she managed to nod though. Thomas couldn’t do anything about it: He had to grin as well as he hung up the suits.

 

“As you are a really smart girl, do you happen to know where I have to put this one as well?” Thomas asked with a wave at the book after he had noticed that there were at least five tables with flowers on them.

 

“Of course”, the girl smiled but hid her face behind her rabbit.

 

“And would you mind telling me?” Thomas asked.

 

The girl opened her mouth but was interrupted by a shout from upstairs which was immediately followed by the noise of feet trampling down the stairs. “Sybbie! Where on earth are you? ... It’s not funny darling, you have to get up tomorrow morning.”

 

The girl, Sybbie apparently, immediately hid behind a table.

 

_Ridiculous_ , Thomas thought because she still was in plain sight, _but adorably so_.

 

The next thing that happened wasn’t so adorable though:

Philip Crowborough came racing down the stairs, only in a pair of boxer briefs and a simple shirt. Thomas again felt like a deer in the headlights as the editor appeared downstairs. To be fair, the editor wasn’t any better. He stopped dead in his tracks and his usually icy stare was replaced by a look of sheer horror.

 

“What the ...?” Philip started but didn’t finish due to the mutual moment of shock. If Thomas hadn’t been as flabbergasted as he was, he would have noted that with much triumph and malicious joy.

 

There was nothing but complete and utter silence in the room which little Sybbie obviously took as her cue to say something: “I think he does look like the knight in your story, don’t you? ... The story you wanted to continue tonight but you didn’t ...” she added indignantly.

 

“Sybbie”, Philip started and took a deep breath, “get up to your room right this instant”. His voice was calm but strangled. It was apparent that it was only due to the small girl that the editor didn’t lose his temper all together.

 

“But ...”

 

“No but’s. You do as I say and get up right this instant young lady. I’ll be up in only a moment.”

 

Sybbie was obviously familiar with the fact that right now, there was no room for discussion. To be quite honest, Thomas wouldn’t even have had the balls for the single “But”. So the girl mouthed a “Bye” in his direction and slowly went up the stairs as both men looked after her.

 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Philip asked in the same scary-calm voice he had just used to tell the girl to go upstairs.

 

“Uh, you said I should ...” Thomas started but of course wasn’t allowed to finish.

 

“Did I say that you should bark in here without any notice of and sense for privacy? You incapable excuse for an assistant? I don’t think so Thomas! Now get out of here right this instant. And don’t you dare speak of anything you saw tonight or I’ll make your life a living hell, that much I can assure you.”

 

Thomas tried to say something, but Philip grabbed the book still sitting in Thomas’ arm and hit him with it a couple of times, “OUT! Get the fuck out of here!” Philip shouted at him while he ripped the front door open and basically threw Thomas out of his house before slamming the door shut again. The assistant needed a few moments to actually work through the happenings of just a few moments ago. Philip Crowborough obviously had a child – Sybbie. Who was surprisingly nice. So maybe it wasn’t even his? But the girl had said “your story”, the story that her “Papa” had started to tell her. So she had to be his. _That man with a child ...?_ It was something that didn’t quite fit with Thomas’ picture of the man. But why had he thrown him out like that? He had specifically told him to bring the book that very night. Thomas briefly considered going back in and apologise to Philip for whatever he had done wrong but soon decided against that. That lunatic was apparently not in the mood for reasonable discussions at the moment.

 

Only as Thomas was already halfway on his way to the underground he realized that he had just seen his boss in boxer briefs.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my dear readers ... now it's time for one of the special appearances I did promise you in my tags ;-)

 

 

As Thomas entered the office the next morning he was immediately hauled into the walk-in wardrobe by Mary, who had already hung up their editor’s coat.

 

“What on earth did you do, Thomas?” the woman whisper-screamed into his ear as she had his upper arm in an iron grip.

 

Thomas heartbeat sped up immediately, “I did exactly as you said but ... there was this girl who said hello, and I greeted back. From then on ...”

 

Mary stared at him in bewilderment, “You talked? I specifically told you not to speak to anyone ...”

 

“Didn’t you listen ... There was a child ...”

 

“He is not happy, Thomas. _Not_ happy. And that, as even you might guess, is an understatement. If this threatens Paris for me, I am going to hunt you down and torture you, Thomas Barrow.”

 

Ah yes, Paris again. Mary had been talking about that since ... well, ever really. As Mary was now Philip’s first assistant, she was allowed to go to the Paris Fashion Week with him. Meet all the designers, wear couture, blah blah. He had heard it all and wasn’t interested in the slightest. A whole event, well, a series of events rather, only with people like Philip Crowborough and Mary Crawley all over? No thank you.

 

Thomas opened his mouth to explain once again that none of the happenings last night could really count as his fault, but got interrupted by the voice of eternal doom. “ _Thomas?_ ”

 

The respective man looked like a deer in the headlights as his gaze drifted over to the door of Philip Crowborough’s office. Mary snapped her fingers and pointed towards said room, which Thomas started to approach very carefully and on tip-toes only moments afterwards.

 

“Philip, I just wanted to say that the events of last ...”, he started his apology, but wasn’t allowed to continue.

 

“I need the new _Sherlock_ series on my desk as soon as I return from my meeting at three o’clock”, the man stated without bothering to look up from the notes he was scribbling down on his notepad.

 

_Huh, that could have been worse_ , Thomas thought.

“Certainly, I will go to Oxford Street right away and get them for you.”

 

Now the editor looked up and cast his glance at Thomas in a questioning way, “But what on earth would you do there?”

 

“You said I should get you the new _Sherlock_ series ... Oh, would you like them on DVD or BluRay?”

 

Philip only raised his eyebrows. “Did you get hit on your head on your way to work today?” That damnable pursing of the lips again.

 

Thomas cleared his throat, “Not that I recall.”

 

Philip took of his glasses and folded them neatly into his breast pocket, “I have all the existing DVDs and now, in preparation of the story we are about to run when the new one gets out, I need to know what happens next.”

 

If Thomas hadn’t been used to keeping his dropping jaw in check by then, it surely would have hit the floor. “You want the fourth season? The one which hasn’t even been announced yet?”

 

“Do I speak Chinese all of a sudden? Yes, I specifically told you that I want the fourth season in preparation of the piece we are going to run. Now chop chop.”

 

Thomas turned around with his eyes wide open, only to get called back by their dear editor once again, “Oh and Thomas? ... If I don’t have the season on my desk by three o’clock sharp, you needn’t bother to come around again.”

 

The dark-haired man only nodded and went back to sit at his desk in shock. Mary, on the other hand, could barely hide her grin before she went to get lunch – only minutes after Philip had left the office to do whatever he did when he wasn’t around. Driving people mad, surely.

 

_And if I knew Benedict Cumberbatch myself I wouldn’t get that season_ , Thomas thought bitterly.

It was the end. The end of his horrible time at COUTURE. It was bound to happen at some point.

 

He still told himself that very same statement after he had telephoned each and every person he knew who could probably know anything about where he could get a copy of those three episodes for his editor. Needless to say, he hadn’t even gotten close. A few people had laughed at him and hung up immediately. What the worst thing about that was? Thomas could understand them perfectly.

 

His train of thoughts got interrupted by his mobile ringing. Having a look at the display, he smiled despite himself.

 

“Hey Daisy”, he said happy to hear a single friendly voice for once.

 

“Good lord, what happened to you? You sound even worse than back when Jimmy hadn’t kissed you back”, the cook replied.

 

Thomas groaned, “Can we please not talk about that again?”

 

“Is it that Crow-something person again?” Daisy wanted to know, “You really should quit, it isn’t healthy for you.”

 

The man snorted, “That won’t be necessary. I am going to get fired today at three o’clock, _sharp_ ” he explained mockingly.

 

“What?! Why?” Daisy wanted to know.

And so Thomas told her the whole story, including the child. This was Daisy after all, she wouldn’t tell anybody. As Thomas was finished, his friends’ only response was: “Hmmmm ...” and then “ALFRED?!”

 

Thomas jerked back from his phone, “Christ, Daisy! Was that really necessary? I’m sure I can’t hear for days now.”

 

“Stop whining ... Yes, do you still have the number from your catering services? Perfect. ... Thomas, I’ll call you back.” And with that she hung up.

 

Thomas stared dumbfounded onto the screen of his phone. What on earth had that been all about? Clearly this catering service request had been directed towards Alfred, but why was this more important than his misery? He contemplated on calling Jimmy, who would surely listen to all of his complaints but who was unfortunately working now. And having his whining flat mate on the phone while serving champagne and caviar to people as snobby as Philip bloody Crowborough surely didn’t cause the best impression. And as Thomas was about to get fired, they needed Jimmy’s money not to starve to death – they couldn’t always rely on Alfred’s generosity.

 

About half an hour later, in which Thomas didn’t move from his desk – what should he be doing anyway instead of waiting for three o’clock to come – his mobile rang again.

 

Mary, who was sitting at her desk again and typing furiously into her phone, only raised an eyebrow in silent criticism.

 

“What? What is he going to do about that? Fire me?” Thomas sneered and picked up his mobile realizing that he didn’t know the number.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Uh yes, good afternoon ... Is this Thomas Barrow with the horrible boss?”

 

Despite himself, Thomas chuckled for the second time that day. Gallows humour, he was sure. “The very same, what can I do for you?”

 

A chuckle at the other end of the line, “This is Mark Gatiss – listen: I had a call from Alfred Nugent who is responsible for the catering for out shoots and he told me, that you need help. The thing is this, Thomas: We have only shot episode one of the fourth season, but it’s only raw material. That I can give you.”

 

Thomas dropped the pen he had been playing around with. “Excuse me?”

 

“Yes, it’s tons of stuff. I told our directing assistant that she should start copying right away. As for the other two episodes: Your boss can have the script – or what we have of it anyway. Needless to say, we wouldn’t do this for anyone but first, Alfred’s cooking is delicious and second, you don’t have to tell me about threatening superiors. So I talked to Steven and we will give what we have to your boss. You have to make him sign a confidentiality agreement though.”

 

Thomas didn’t know how on earth he would do that but still he answered, “Yes, yes of course. Oh my God, thank you so much!”

 

Mark Gatiss – _Mark Gatiss_! – chuckled again. “We’re happy to help. I just tell you the address where you can pick up the DVDs ...”

 

And so it happened that as soon as Thomas had hung up his phone he sprinted out of the office, past a very offended looking Mary, got into a cab and drove where that angel of Mark Gatiss had told him to go. There he got about a ton of DVDs, the script for all the episodes, a letter which assured Philip Crowborough that as soon as the other episodes were finished, they would be sent to him first thing and of course the confidentiality agreement. On his way back to the office, Thomas called Alfred and thanked that bloody tall red-head with an “I swear Alfred, next time we meet up, it’s going to be you who I’ll be kissing.” He could well imagine Alfred’s shocked face and smiled. Thomas could hear Daisy giggle in the background. He made it to their building by quarter to three, got into the elevator and walked into their office with his head held high and his arms heavy with DVDs.

 

Philip was already sitting at his desk, obviously waiting for Thomas to announce his failure. The 38-year-old put on his well practiced smile and laid a single sheet of paper in front of Philip Crowborough, next to his cup of tea.

 

“What on earth is this Thomas? And what are you carrying around?” the man sneered.

 

“A confidentiality agreement. I am only allowed to hand the _Sherlock_ -stuff over to you if you sign this.”

 

Philip let the cup he had just reached out to fall to the floor. “Excuse me?”

 

“Yes, the team of _Sherlock_ wants to be sure that nothing leeks out, but I’m sure you are familiar with those concepts, aren’t you Philip?”

 

“Uh-huh”, Philip said, shook his head as if he wanted to force himself out of his stupor and actually signed the bloody sheet of paper before handing it back to Thomas. In return, the assistant placed the mountain of stuff onto the thankfully spacious office desk of the editor.

 

“You see, it is only the first episode they have filmed yet. This is the stuff on the DVDs, but I’m afraid it’s only raw material. You can, however, read the other two episodes ... This is the script. ... Anyway, Mark Gatiss assures you in that letter that as soon as the episodes are finished he is going to send them over to you.”

 

Thomas noted with the utmost satisfaction that Philip eyed the stuff on his table in complete adoration. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

 

The editor cleared his throat, “N-No. That’s all, Thomas.”

 

For the first time Thomas walked out of the editor’s office with pride.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

It had all been too good to be true.

Since Thomas had gotten Philip the _Sherlock_ -stuff, the editor had indeed been friendlier to his not-so-new-anymore second assistant. Well, of course not friendly per se, but still tolerable. Needless to say, this had been a rare occurrence since Thomas had started working for the high fashion magazine. Philip had even signed him up for another photo shoot, which Thomas wouldn’t have thought possible before. It was only a small one, but still the 38-year-old counted this as a personal success. He even had a lot of fun arranging the concept as well as the models himself for once.

 

But, just the way it always had been in the life of Thomas Barrow, reality kicked in at the most inconvenient time possible: Jimmy Kent’s birthday.

Daisy, Alfred, Ivy and Thomas himself had planned a nice dinner for the night – something posh, as Jimmy liked it – at _Alfred’s_ and later on they wanted to go to party at a really nice club which Daisy knew the owner of. They had already been there twice and they had enjoyed the crowd. It was a pretty cool club and so they had decided to go there after dinner.

At five o’clock in the afternoon though, Thomas and Mary got called into Philip’s office, who demanded that both would be present at the magazine’s precious gala that very night.

 

“But ... I thought that only Mary would be required to be there ...” Thomas blurted out in shock.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry Thomas. Do you have other commitments for tonight?” Philip asked mockingly.

 

The addressed one took a deep breath while Mary’s eyes shot daggers at him. “In fact I do have plans for tonight Philip, they are rather important ...” Thomas managed to say while Mary’s stare got even worse.

 

Philip, on the other hand, didn’t seem impressed at all, “Change them. I need you to be there tonight and help Mary with the tasks at hand.”

 

Another deep breath later, Thomas really pushed his luck: “There isn’t any chance that I could bring somebody, is there?”

 

Mary gaped and Philip sneered, “Oh but of course, Thomas!” the editor exclaimed. “Just invite as many people as you please to our exclusive event everybody else had to pay a few hundred pounds to get in for. Be my guest, Thomas ...”

 

Thomas curled his bad hand into a fist which Philip didn’t seem to acknowledge. “Mary, you show him the folders and I expect you to be there at nine sharp. That’s all.”

 

“What on earth was that all about, Thomas?!” Mary whispered on their way out.

 

Thomas silently promised himself that he wouldn’t explain, “What folders?”

 

 

In retrospect, he wished that he hadn’t asked. The folders, three in number, were full of pictures, names, professions and other trivia about the people that somebody had deemed important enough to invite to the COUTURE gala. And Thomas was expected to know each and every one of those people by nine o’clock. No, not to be able to spot the important editors aka potential future employers of Thomas, but to stand like a servant in the twentieth century behind Philip Crowborough and whisper all the information in said folders to him if he ever forgot who, say, Sir Humphrey Barnaby, was. The owner of a gallery that frequently showed the more artsy photo shots of COUTURE, just to be clear about that one.

 

Having studied the folders as thoroughly as he could, Thomas found himself in a midnight blue suit (bless Phyllis Baxter) on the way to the event. In a most pompous car, mind. On other days he might even have enjoyed that taste of fame and fortune but not today. Today he was on the phone with Alfred: “Just start without me ... I’ll be in the club as soon as I can, I promise.”

 

“You can’t do anything about it I suppose”, Alfred sighed, “But you know that Jimmy wants you to be there. So hurry up and get to us as quickly as you can.”

 

“I’ll be happy to do just that, Alfred, that one you can believe me ...” Thomas now sighed on his part before he hung up the phone – and just before arriving at the site.

 

Once Thomas got out of the car, he was immediately greeted by blinding lights. If they were directed towards him, he couldn’t possibly see. Not if his life depended on it. After the initial moment of shock where Thomas got used to all the flashes he could start to make his way to the front entrance, which was where he already saw Mary in an admittedly stunning purple robe waiting for him. On his way to the entrance though, he caught the eye of Phyllis Baxter who dutifully answered whatever the journalists in front of her wanted to know. As the woman laid eyes on him, she smiled broadly into his direction and Thomas felt bold enough to wink back at her.

 

“Goodness, Thomas. You look so chic tonight,” Mary greeted him with a small smile as he had closed the distance to the stairs. Maybe it was the first he ever got from his fellow colleague.

 

“Thank you, Mary. You look pretty glamorous yourself tonight” Thomas gave her a little grin in return as they walked up the red carpeted stairs to finally enter the building. Doubtlessly Philip would arrive any minute and both wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Most of all as Thomas wanted to leave that bloody gala as soon as possible to celebrate Jimmy’s birthday.

 

 

About three hours later, Thomas didn’t even bother to fidget anymore. He was so, so late. Mary had already commented on his giddy attitude a few times – and not nicely – but thankfully, Philip was too busy to even notice. How he had gotten out of his car in his perfectly-cut Burberry suit Thomas had to admit that he did cut quite a dashing figure. What he once had thought to be intimidating now seemed to complete the powerful facade of their editor. And of course Philip made sure to continue to celebrate his apparently natural presence inside as well. How he socialized with all the important people that sometimes Mary, sometimes he himself reminded him of, was admirable.

 

“Oh dear God!” Mary exclaimed all of a sudden and Thomas’ head snapped in her direction.

 

“What?!” Thomas whispered while Philip was talking to a stunning young man who apparently was about to become a very promising model.

 

“Don’t look just yet, but over there”, Mary cast her head just vaguely into the direction of the bar, “that woman with the mop of curls on top of her head?”

 

Thomas made a show of scanning the room and let his gaze wander over the bar. It was rather easy to spot who Mary was talking about due to the monstrosity of hair as well as the (probably worse) orange dress.

 

“Mhm ...” Thomas confirmed and kept his eyes wandering around the room.

 

“Sarah O’Brien. She had once been working at the London magazine but things got a bit ... unpleasant and she left. Or Philip made her leave, rather. Anyway, she is now working at COUTURE in Paris but constantly wants to take over the London one again. She is _vicious_.”

 

Thomas was almost amused by Mary Crawley’s outburst, “And therefore she made sure to attend tonight’s event, am I right?”

 

“Philip will get a fit”, Mary whispered and Thomas was torn between wanting the experience that from the very front row or hiding and hoping that nobody would find him until the editor had his temper back under control. Probably the later.

 

As if on cue, the woman spotted that the pretty male model had excused himself and strolled over to them with a shrill “Philip!” and a not quite gracious wave.

 

Thomas realized that Philip put on his well-practiced smile. “Sarah, how glad I am that you could make it.” Cameras were flashing everywhere as both of them shook hands, “Happy to be back in London once again?”

 

“Well”, the woman snarled, “Nothing much has changed, almost everything is still how it had been when I left for Paris. Some things never change, right Philip?” And with that, she shot Thomas a pointed look that he absolutely didn’t understand. However, he was certain that it wasn’t a friendly one. So he squared his shoulders and shot an icy glare into the direction of her curls as well.

 

“Oh, if you would have the time to stay a little longer then you would find that quite a few things have been changed since the time you worked in London. But as I understand you have to head back tomorrow already?”

 

“Hm ... yes, unfortunately. There is a make-over of our magazine that your office had advised that I have to supervise as it appears.”

 

“Ah well ... If our office suggested it, I’m certain it was way over due. You know that London doesn’t want to interfere with Paris more than strictly necessary.” Philip exposed his perfect teeth to the woman and Mary had to hide her grin behind her clutch.

 

“You will be coming to the Fashion Week though, or am I mistaken?” Sarah O’Brien asked. Now it was Mary’s turn to shoot that woman an icy stare.

 

“I couldn’t possibly stay away ... I can’t leave all the work up to you even though you are a busy little bee Sarah.” Thomas thought that he ton of make-up on the woman’s face would melt due to Philip’s snide remarks. Nevertheless, the editor continued, “But no more business tonight, please have a drink at the bar.”

 

“Only if you accompany me.”

 

And with that both editors walked towards the bar once again which Thomas thought to be a very fitting time to look at his watch. After doing so, he moaned. It was already way too late.

 

“Stop whining, tonight is important Thomas. I don’t know why you don’t understand that”, Mary scolded him.

 

“It’s just ... My best friends’ birthday party is tonight ... _now_ , in fact, and he will be so mad at me for not being there.” Thomas couldn’t believe that he had just given Mary Crawley some details about his private life. It shocked him, to put it mildly.

 

“I’m sure he’ll understand”, Mary said and placed a glass of champagne in Thomas’ hand which she had just retrieved from a passing-by waiter.

 

“I can’t believe I am even asking this but are we allowed to drink?” Thomas asked and lifted his eyebrows.

 

“If we’re quick he won’t catch us”, Mary winked at him and Thomas smiled.

 

 

“Mary! Thomas! Come _now_!”

The addressed ones had just been talking to a journalist from the _Guardian_ as both of their heads shot into the direction of a very distressed looking Phyllis Baxter. The two excused themselves immediately.

 

“What’s the matter?” Thomas asked, knowing that something terrible must have happened.

 

“It’s Philip”, the woman started.

 

Mary shook her head, “But what about him?”

 

“Well, see for yourself ...” Phyllis said and pointed her head slightly towards their boss, who was supporting himself on one of the dinner tables. It seemed as if he would lose his balance any second. The three of them quickly rushed over to their editor and Phyllis supported him as well as she could. To be fair, it wasn’t an easy task ... more so because it wasn’t allowed to raise any suspicion.

 

“I don’t feel well ...” Philip stated.

 

“Yes, we can see that ...” Phyllis said, “Mary: Get a car to the back door and make sure that no one follows you. Thomas, you help me ...”

 

And with that, Phyllis Baxter and he himself escorted Philip Crowborough out of the room as quickly as they managed. The condition of their editor worsened rapidly, as both noticed once his feet gave out.

 

“Good God, do you think he has been drugged?” Thomas whispered while Philip leaned his head onto his shoulder.

 

“You smell good Thomas. Doesn’t he smell really, really good Ph-Phyllis?”

 

“Spectacular! Now focus on walking Philip.” The woman said, and then she continued, clearly in Thomas’ direction: “Appears that way, he only had a glass of champagne to drink. He never drinks more than that at an event ...”

 

As few moments later, they arrived at the back door, where Mary was already waiting outside a black car with darkened windows. Phyllis took the matter in her capable hands again: “Mary, you and Thomas are going to take Philip home – and make sure that there will be a doctor waiting there to properly take care of him. I’ll be staying here and try to reduce the damage. See you tomorrow.” And with that, she disappeared inside again, black dress waving graciously behind her.

 

Thomas walked over with Philip now resting all of his weight only on him while Mary opened the door of the car. “I’ll take care of him Thomas. You go and celebrate your friends’ birthday.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous ...” Thomas started but Mary only waved at him.

 

“Go, I’m serious. I got this.”

 

“So he doesn’t come with us?” Philip asked in Mary’s general direction, who only took a deep breath: “No Philip, he needs to be somewhere else tonight ...”

 

“Oh ... Oh, I see. ... It’s a pity though.”

 

Thomas questioned his own sanity as he saw Philip Crowborough actually pouting because he didn’t come with them. Mary only rolled her eyes: “Yes, very tragic. Now get into the car Philip.”

 

“Can I get a good-night kiss?” the editor asked in Thomas direction and bit his lip afterwards.

 

The addressed one, on the other hand, wasn’t sure he had understood, let alone processed what he had just heard. “Excuse me?”

 

“I won’t be going ...” his feet gave out again and Thomas had to steady him against the car, “Huh, sorry ... until I have my good-night kiss, Thomas ...”

 

Thomas briefly asked himself if the chances for him being fired first thing tomorrow morning were higher if he did or did not follow Philip’s order. “I hardly think that ...”

 

Mary slammed her hand down on the roof of the car and both men jerked in surprise: “For heaven’s sake Thomas, it won’t kill you. Now give him his kiss so we all can be on our way.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this ...” Thomas muttered under his breath but still leaned in and softly touched his lips to Philip’s in a chaste kiss. He would absolutely deny the fact that his heart started beating way faster than before while doing so. As Thomas pulled back he saw Philip opening his eyes again and smile at him like a child on Christmas Day. Needless to say it only added to the irreality of the whole situation. Philip never smiled like that. Then the man opposite of Thomas licked his lips again and his eyes darted to Thomas’ lips once more. Thankfully, Mary was there to save the day and Thomas from doing something very, very stupid.

 

“Very well. Good-night kiss, check. Now get in the car Philip.”

 

The man looked almost apologetic as he said, “I ... I have to get in the car ...”

 

Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes, I am aware of that. Come on, I’ll help you ...” And together with Mary, they needed a total of five minutes to get their boss seated in the black vehicle properly. Thomas even asked if Mary was sure that she didn’t need any help but the woman only told Thomas to go and celebrate with his friend. As the raven-haired man closed the door of the car witnessed one of Philip’s comments (“He smells so good Mary ...”) before the car took off.

 

Thomas stood there in his blue suit and tried to process the events of tonight – the night that had ended with him kissing his boss. Well, it hardly counted as a proper kiss but still Thomas felt awkward about it. He didn’t even want to think about them having to meet each other on Monday at the office. After a few deep breaths Thomas regained his composure and made his way to the main street.

 

“TAXI!”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, sorry I have kept you waiting for a rather long time, but the last weeks have been truly crazy.  
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the chapter which is a rather long one (compensation for the wait ^^).

 

 

Jimmy was pissed – to put it mildly.

Needless to say there wasn’t anybody of his friends in the club anymore as Thomas arrived at half past two in the morning. So he made his way to their shared apartment only to find it in complete darkness. At first Thomas had thought that Jimmy might have found a girl at the club and went home with her, but then he spotted Jimmy’s working-clothes in the bathroom and he was sure that the blonde was in the flat. Not wanting to wake him up, Thomas got to bed as quietly as possible. Not without spending way too many thoughts about the birthday boy as well as his boss, for heaven’s sake.

 

The next morning, Saturday, Thomas woke up to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. He quickly got out of bed, grabbed Jimmy’s birthday present – new sheet music – and made his way into their kitchen. Thomas decided that he would bury his guilt under the mask of cheerfulness and whished Jimmy the best of all mornings while entering the kitchen in his pyjamas. Nothing prepared him for Jimmy’s ice cold stare he got in return.

 

“Happy belated Birthday?” Thomas tried again and held up Jimmy’s present.

 

The blonde only muttered, “Bloody unbelievable” in return.

 

Thomas sighed and sat down at their kitchen table. “Listen Jimmy, I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t be there yesterday but there had been a crisis at the gala and ...”

 

“Stop there right this instant, Thomas Barrow!” Jimmy spun around and Thomas once again felt like a deer in the headlights. “I don’t care what happened at your precious gala yesterday, nor do I care about what photo shoot needed to be rearranged and about whatever design needs a make-over. I just can’t deal with this right now ...”

 

Jimmy turned around again and started torturing the coffee machine.

 

“This wasn’t planned. I wasn’t even supposed to be there but ... Well, I tried to talk Philip into letting me bring you because this would have been so your thing yesterday but obviously ...” Thomas tried to explain his intentions but Jimmy only mockingly shook his head.

 

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

 

“I consider this to be a rhetoric question?” Thomas tried to diffuse the tension but without success.

 

“I don’t care about that gala and I don’t care about you slowly turning into this ... fashion victim.” Thomas tried to object but his flat mate didn’t let him, “All I wanted was to celebrate with my friends – because I don’t have anybody else. _No one_ else. And you are my best friend Thomas. But you weren’t there and you let me down because of a job that you didn’t even want to do in the first place.”

 

“Jimmy, don’t be like that ...” Thomas started but the blonde interrupted him again.

 

“It’s not only me. Everybody thinks like that. Daisy, Alfred and even Ivy ... We don’t ever see you anymore, we don’t know you anymore Thomas. You’re making a stranger of yourself. ... Which is fine, truly. But we don’t have to pretend that we have anything we can share a friendship over in common anymore.” And with that, Jimmy grabbed his coffee mug and disappeared in his room.

 

Thomas kept sitting dumbfounded at the table, Jimmy’s present still in his hands and his word’s ringing in his ears. It was true, he had been working rather a lot lately – but was that really a crime? To try and for once be successful in something that he did? Wasn’t he allowed any happiness in life? But what was happiness – success in his job (if one could call that successful) or his friends who had always been there for him? And was he truly selfish for wanting both?

 

After trying to talk to Jimmy again and having knocked on his door three times without the other one opening up, Thomas gave up. He went into the bathroom and got as presentable as necessary for the day. Then he decided to be heading out. The weather was quite fine and he surely wouldn’t stay in the flat he shared with a sulking Jimmy who didn’t even want to talk to him.

 

As Thomas had no plan whatsoever, he went for a stroll around the city. Something he hadn’t been doing for ages. At around noon he got himself some fish and chips and found a bench to sit on. And just as he had taken his very first bite his mobile rang. Partly praying that it would be Jimmy, he hurried to answer it, only to see that it was Mary calling. Thomas answered the phone with an: “I hope he did not die.”

 

“Very funny Thomas”, Mary sneered, “I need you to pick up a few things from a pharmacy and bring them over to Philip’s house, where you are going to take care of him while Phyllis and myself try to minimize the damage that has been done. I’m pretty sure we’ll have to organize a press conference for Monday.”

 

Thomas sighed, “And I have to play nurse because I’m too stupid to be part of the conference-organisation, did I get this right?”

 

An exasperated sigh on the other end of the line later, Mary continued, “No, not because you are too stupid but because you don’t know those people like Phyllis and I do and we need to be as efficient as possible. After all we have about half of the time we would need to organize a press conference like that. ... And maybe Philip rather wants you there fussing over him in his state. After all he could want another good-night kiss.”

 

Thomas could almost see Mary’s face while saying that. He, on the other hand, groaned: “Oh God, don’t remind me ...”

 

“I’ll e-mail you the list with things you need to pick up and stay at his house until either Phyllis or I come and replace you.”

 

Thomas asked himself what he had done wrong in his life to deserve all this. Go to Philip Crowborough’s house and take care of him – just the way he imagined his Saturday’s to be. The last time he had been to the town house of the editor, things had gone really smoothly after all. Thomas doubted that he could pull strings similar to the _Sherlock_ -incident again. Nevertheless he found himself in front of said house again – with a bag from the pharmacy but without a key. Just perfect. He recalled that he hadn’t been allowed to make any sound the last time he had visited and now he even had to deal with a sick Philip. But he wouldn’t get in there if he didn’t ring the bell and that was probably worse than waking up the cranky editor. So Thomas decided on doing that.

 

It was, however, little Sybbie who opened the door and whose face lit up as soon as she spotted Thomas. “Thomas! It’s you! ... I told Mary she should send you.”

 

Apparently the small Crowborough was just as good with giving orders like her father – but then, this shouldn’t be a surprise. The girl was, however, way cuter than her ‘ _Papa_ ’ usually was.

 

“Hello Sybbie, how are you?” Thomas asked and was promptly let in by the girl.

 

“I’m fine ... But Papa isn’t and so I had to take care of him”, the girl babbled along as both walked into some mysterious direction.

 

“Wait ... You’re here on your own?” Thomas asked taken aback.

 

“Papa is here, of course, but he is in bed. But Mary had been here and she had told me that you would come soon. So I had to watch over Papa only a short amount of time.”

 

Thomas grinned at how serious this little girl sounded. “And I’m absolutely sure you did a marvellous job, smart girl that you are.”

 

Sybbie, today in jeans and a light blue t-shirt, nodded emphatically, “Yes. I start school next year so I’m really grown up.”

 

Thomas had to laugh at that, only to get eyed by the small girl rather suspiciously, “You can help me make tea for Papa”, she announced after a little while and just as Thomas set foot in a very spacious kitchen. “I tried to make tea but Papa always says that I am not allowed to boil water on my own.”

 

“And he is right about that”, Thomas said as he put down the bag from the pharmacy and slid off his blazer. “I have a suggestion, young lady” Thomas said, “You tell me what to do and I fulfil the tasks at hand under your supervision. How does that sound?”

 

Sybbie looked up at him and raised her arms in the air. “Pick me up and let me sit on the counter. I need to supervise.”

 

Now Thomas couldn’t do anything about it, he had to laugh wholeheartedly. Then he picked Sybbie up and sat her down as requested. “At your service, my Lady.”

 

 

When the tea was almost ready, Thomas sent Sybbie up to her father to announce his presence – it appeared to be safer that way. Originally, the raven-haired man had intended to bring a tray up to his editor’s bedroom, but as he heard footsteps in the corridor as well as Sybbie’s babbling he set the cup of tea he had originally put on a tray onto the kitchen island. Only moments later the little girl and Philip appeared. And Thomas had to take a second look: the otherwise so impeccable man seemed like he had wrung with death. Thomas was certain that that particular scenario hadn’t taken place, but still the man looked awful. Only while having a second look Thomas realized that the editor of COUTURE was only in his pyjamas.

 

“Good afternoon Thomas”, Philip croaked and sat down carefully. Still he winced slightly.

 

“H-Hello Philip”, Thomas managed to stutter, which was followed by a curious look from said man. “I would ask how you are doing but I’m afraid that’s pretty obvious”, Thomas added and asked himself if he was insane just as the words had left his mouth. Surely Phillip would be pleased to hear that he looked like shit. The chuckle from the editor surprised Thomas.

 

“Well, let’s hope that by Monday I will be able to cover it all up – at least until the press conference is over”, Philip smiled.

 

“We made tea ...” Sybbie exclaimed and pointed towards Philip’s cup which Thomas filled up immediately.

 

Philip smiled at his girl, “How wonderful, thank you darling.” He kissed the top of her head and Thomas asked himself how such a transformation of character was even possible. Moreover, while in the office, Thomas would never have guessed that Philip was a father, or even capable of parental feelings, yet when he saw him with Sybbie, everything seemed natural about him as a parent.

 

“Thomas helped”, Sybbie piped up and made Thomas blush slightly (a fact that he would deny rigorously if ever asked).

 

“Is that so? What did he do then if he helped?” Philip asked his daughter, who giggled.

 

“I told him what to do and he did it”, Sybbie nodded and Philip grinned. With a pointed look towards Thomas he answered, “Yes, he happens to be very good at that.”

 

 _Had that just been an actual compliment?_ Thomas couldn’t believe his ears. Also, his blush absolutely did not deepen at that statement.

 

“As a matter of fact”, Philip continued and turned to his daughter again, “this is why I would have to talk to Thomas about business.”

 

Thomas listened up immediately, but Sybbie had a contrary opinion, “But that’s booooring ...”

 

“Exactly darling. So I would suggest that as you have been looking after me dutifully ever since you got up, you go and play for a bit. Thomas will be here to look after me for the moment ...”

 

“But”, Sybbie hopped down from her stool and pointed Philip to lean down so that she could whisper into his ear, “you get me once you are done talking business, right?”

 

“Of course”, the man sitting opposite of Thomas confirmed, equally whispering.

 

So Sybbie waved at Thomas and hurried off upstairs. Philip looked after her fondly before he turned back to Thomas. “She likes you very much, you must know that.”

 

Thomas smiled, taking a sip from his own tea, “She’s lovely. You did a great job.” Thomas smiled and Philip grinned. “Something you wouldn’t have thought possible, huh? Me taking responsibility for another human being”, Philip replied but started chuckling as Thomas was searching for words in panic.

 

“That was a joke ... You know that I am capable of those as well, or don’t you?”

 

Thomas chuckled, looked down onto his cup and nodded, just as Philip continued, “You may ask, you know? I won’t bite ... well, it’s not likely anyway.”

 

Both of their eyes met and both men grinned. “Where is her mother?” Thomas finally managed to ask and was fascinated and slightly scared by the shadow that immediately clouded Philip’s already way too pale face. “Dead.”

 

Thomas almost let go of his cup, “Oh my God Philip, I am so sorry ...”

 

“Yes, I am too. She was a wonderful person ... You would have liked her”, Philip now smiled fondly.

 

“Of course it’s none of my business but how did it happen?” Thomas asked.

 

“During child birth”, Thomas’ breath hitched at that statement, “There were complications and ... well, Sybil didn’t make it.”

 

“So you named her after her mother then”, Thomas concluded and Philip nodded.

 

“Yes, Tom and I decided that it would be a fitting name. And it turns out that we were right ... She reminds me of her mother every day.”

 

Thomas frowned, “Tom?”

 

“Yes, Sybil’s boyfriend at the time. She met him while she was pregnant with little Sybbie ... He’s taken on a job in Boston now, but thankfully he comes and visits as often as he can take time off. I’m glad he accepts Sybbie.” Now Philip looked down at his cup of tea, deep in thought.

 

“So ... You and Sybil broke up then ... before she gave birth?” Thomas asked.

 

Philip shot Thomas a look that almost screamed _really now?!_ “Don’t play coy with me Thomas. You surely must have guessed by now that I’m gay.”

 

 _Definitely confession day then,_ Thomas thought, m _aybe he is still drugged_.

“Well yes, but how does Sybbie fit the picture then?”

 

The man sitting opposite of him sighed, “It was the classic, I’m afraid. Drunk one-night stand. I cannot recall anything, and neither did Sybil. She had been my best friend for years; she had always been there for me. And one night we went out, got drunk beyond reason and next thing we know was that we both woke up in the same bed, naked. We didn’t know what had happened and laughed it off, but two months later Sybil told me that she was pregnant. And that there was no other option for a father but me.”

 

Thomas looked at the other man in complete awe, “Life-changing day then”, he managed after a few moments.

 

Philip laughed, “Indeed. My first time with a woman and then that.” Thomas started chuckling too. “We’ve discussed what was about to happen then”, Philip continued, “but it was clear from the beginning that we both wanted the child. ... When ...” Philip cleared his throat, “After she had died I have asked myself for a long time if that had been the right decision. Otherwise Sybil would still be alive ... if we hadn’t ...” he trailed off.

 

“You must never think like that, this wasn’t your fault in the slightest”, Thomas replied immediately.

 

“That’s what Tom said too ... but it took me quite some time to actually believe it.”

 

“I’m sure Sybil – even though I obviously didn’t get to know her – would be really proud of the work you did. And while managing that magazine, dear God, I can’t imagine what this has to be like ...” Thomas trailed off.

 

“Well, I have some people who are helping me; who look after Sybbie when I have to get away on business trips and such ... Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you in the first place, Thomas. I have a request: I want you to accompany me to Paris next month.”

 

Thomas was a loss for words for a few seconds, “You mean the Fashion Week?”

 

Philip nodded, “Exactly. I want my very best team there and you just happen to have become part of that.”

 

“But ... Are you sure?” Thomas still considered this to be a joke.

 

“Yes, quite. You should know that I am always very sure about what I order people to do.” Philip smirked.

 

“I have to admit that I don’t know what to say Philip ...”

 

“Well yes, I truly hope. Even though it’s basically simply a trip where everybody has to work at least twice as much as usual. But Mary and Phyllis will be there too and so you will have help. It’s going to be fine ...”

 

“I- Well, thank you. ... Thank you, Philip. Yes, of course I’ll come to Paris.”

 

Philip seemed pleased enough with that answer, “At least I’ll have somebody by my side to watch my bloody drinks. God, how I hate that woman ...”

 

Thomas winced, “So it was that Sarah O’Brien then ... Speaking of which: How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“Apart from a hitman, you mean?” Philip replied and Thomas laughed, only to remember the bag he had brought from the pharmacy and which he pushed into Philip’s hands.

 

After they had talked a bit more about Paris and Thomas’ duties there, Philip suddenly interrupted Thomas, “I just have to ask Thomas: Did I make a terrible fool of myself yesterday? Mary hinted that there had been something while you were trying to get me into the car. And as it happens I cannot recall anything apart from the whole ballroom spinning. I’d hate to have offended you or something ...”

 

During Philip’s speech Thomas’ thoughts obviously drifted back to that kiss and a blush rose onto his cheeks again. A fact that unfortunately didn’t get unnoticed by the editor, “Oh dear, you are blushing. Why are you blushing?”

 

“It was nothing”, Thomas shook his head, “Really. Nothing to worry about, I’m serious. No harm done.”

 

“Whatever it was, I want to make sure that you know that I’m sorry.”

 

Thomas smiled and nodded, just before Sybbie entered the kitchen again only to announce that she was hungry. While Philip got her some biscuits, she once again mentioned that story with the knight and the pumpkin which her Papa still had to finish. Right then, it was Philip’s time to blush even though Thomas had not the slightest idea what it was that had caused it. He still needed to get to the bottom of that, but for now, he accepted the biscuit little Sybbie was offering him.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to you, my dear readers.  
> Sorry for the delay - but you'll get a long chapter in return. Also: it's set in Paris ;)
> 
> Thank you for still sticking with this story and for your kind comments, I really appreciate them. You guys are amazing <3

 

 

The next month was kind of a blur for Thomas.

A blur which started obviously with the press conference which should enlighten the media about why Philip Crowborough had left the COUTURE gala as rapidly as he had. Somebody – and everybody in the London Office suspected O’Brien – had taken pictures of Philip, Phyllis and Thomas who hurried out of the ballroom. Thankfully, the PR-department had come up with an amazing story about an allergic reaction to some pills Phillip had taken which had caused some side effects – that had worsened due to the champagne at the event. Thomas stood behind Phyllis and Philip and was truly amazed how well Philip handled all this. More so while knowing what really had happened. But thankfully, the press bought the story and that, as they say, was that. No harm done.

 

Then the preparations for Paris started and that took up most of all of their time anyway. Appointments needed to be made, tables to be booked, attendances to be confirmed and hotel rooms to be booked and properly equipped (“I swear to God Thomas, if there is a single tulip in one of the rooms you will be the one paying for it.”). Yes, no matter how nice Philip had been at “confession-day” as Thomas had now officially labelled that afternoon in his head, in the office he was still the same as ever. But by now, Thomas understood why. Because of O’Brien’s attack, because of Philip’s back story and because that made him, and therefore the magazine, vulnerable.

So Thomas put up with each and every one of Philip’s orders and tried to focus on Paris. He had never been there and as stupid as Mary’s hyperventilation-fits had seemed at the time, Thomas could now understand why those had taken place. He himself also got giddy every time he thought about it.

 

Yes, there was another matter concerning Mary:

She was supposed to supervise the launch of some sort of unisex-high fashion campaign by a quite young – and therefore not yet famous – designer, whose name Thomas never quite remembered, which should be announced in Paris. Needless to say, Mary had been over the moon from the moment Philip announced that very thing. She didn’t show it too obviously on the outside of course, but inwardly Thomas was sure she was singing with joy. Thomas suspected that it was Philip’s way of saying ‘Thank you’ for everything that woman had made possible after the disaster at the gala. More work. But of course, it was an amazing chance for the woman and Thomas was surprised to find that he was happy for her. She surely deserved that for working for that man for who knew how long.

 

The whole thing with Jimmy had gone at least somewhat back to normal, but needless to say, the blonde wasn’t pleased to learn about Thomas going to Paris and its high society and glamour – and about Thomas spending even more time at the office due to the preparations.

 

But then the big day was there and they, meaning Philip, Phyllis, Mary and Thomas, got onto a private jet to Paris, where they got a limousine at the airport which drove them to one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Thomas now understood why everybody was so keen on going to Paris: it was simply wonderful. The city with all those lights held Thomas’ gaze for the better part of the drive, which earned him amused looks by Phyllis and Mary – that went unnoticed by the respective man. Philip, on the other hand, went through his schedule for the next few days and henceforth didn’t spare once glimpse for the lights either.

 

The next two days were a blur of appointments Philip had to go to, interviews, press junkets and fashion shows Thomas was also allowed to come to. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy it. Thomas still didn’t consider himself to be an expert or a huge admirer of haute couture, but he couldn’t deny the fact that all the happenings were exciting and he enjoyed being among the leading heads of the fashion industry.

 

Thomas even got more excited when Philip asked if he could pick up the plan of tomorrow’s fashion show of Tom Ford at the party the very same was giving. Apparently all the arrangements had been made that Thomas could get in without any problems – as a kind of replacement for COUTURE’s editor-in-chief, who announced that after half of the most important events had finally passed he would have an early night. Needless to say, there wasn’t any discussion about that and so Thomas found himself at a loft high over most of Paris’ roofs in the midst of models, designers, photographers and journalists. Thomas did consider this his very own reward for the happenings after the gala and he fully intended on enjoying it as best as he could.

 

Once he had gotten hold of the folder Tom Ford himself placed into Thomas’ hands and an invitation to have a drink at the bar of said man (“You’re working for Philip, I’m pretty sure you are in desperate need of that”) Thomas decided to do just that. As he stood there at the bar with his glass of punch, somebody dropped onto the stool next to him.

 

“I wouldn’t be drinking that if I were you ...” a male, heavy accented voice advised.

 

As Thomas turned around to look at the person who thought could give him advise on his alcohol consummation, the raven-haired man almost let go of his glass again. Next to him sat one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen: tall, tanned, brown hair, doubtlessly styled but it didn’t appear that way, high cheek-bones, full lips, casually dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt in a room full of people who looked like they had raided _The Depot_ at the London Office. In short, Thomas was enchanted.

 

“Is that so? Why, if I may ask?” Thomas replied and got a breathtaking smile from the other man.

 

“Well, last time I had a glass of that, I can’t remember a thing afterwards ... only that I woke up wearing only a poncho and an orange cowboy hat.”

 

Thomas chuckled involuntarily, “As much I would have liked to see that very scenario, I don’t think I should be repeating that.”

 

“Very wise”, the man with the Spanish accent told Thomas as he put the glass on the counter in front of him.

 

“Thomas Barrow”, Thomas remembered his manners and held out his hand to the handsome stranger.

 

“Ah, so you’re Philip’s new assistant then ... The one who makes the great photos I presume”, the man replied while he took Thomas hand. The addressed man was surprised that apparently people actually knew who he was.

 

“Jon Kortajarena” the man smiled and Thomas felt as if somebody had slapped him in the face.

 

“The one with the name I couldn’t pronounce then”, the dark-haired man said before he had the proper time to think.

 

His new acquaintance didn’t seem to mind though, “Yes, it’s quite a mouthful. But you at least admit it ... I hate it if people pretend they can pronounce it and can’t. Sometimes I didn’t even know that it was me they had been referring too.”

 

Both men laughed at that. Conversation flew easily between them afterwards and Thomas found that there were people in the whole fashion business that one could actually have a nice time with – something he had considered impossible not even half a year ago. Jon told him that he had seen some of his pictures and that he had been impressed: “It’s truly sad that you didn’t take the pictures at my shoot. I liked them, they were very ... fresh. Not the stuff you usually see.”

 

“I truly am sorry about that too”, Thomas grinned over his glass of wine (they had settled for two glasses of white).

 

John pursed his lips, “You know what? ... Don’t get this wrong, but ... We could exchange numbers and maybe we can arrange something ...”

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows. Jon ran a hand through his hair, “I mean, apart from the magazine ... a photo shoot ...”

 

Now Thomas couldn’t do anything about it, he started to chuckle. “I would like that, really.”

 

“What’s so funny?” Jon asked and Thomas only waved at him.

 

“I was just thinking about Mary – you know Mary Crawley?” Jon nodded, “The way she had fussed over your last shoot for the magazine was absolutely silly. Anyway, I was thinking about what she would say if she saw us here: you, the supermodel and plain me, exchanging numbers. She would get a fit ...”

 

Both men laughed again, “I would really like to see that. But I really only meant pictures, just to be clear ... I ... I’ve had shoots that turned out different than I had expected and I don’t want that. I’m not that kind of model, you know.” The man opposite of Thomas seemed almost insecure all of a sudden.

 

Strangely, Thomas didn’t even feel disappointed. “And I am not that kind of photographer, well, if I make it, that is”, Thomas grinned at Jon, who mirrored the action. “But I’d really like to arrange that shoot. So, do you have anything to write”, Thomas asked and both men exchanged numbers.

 

Afterwards, Thomas excused himself because he did feel very tired all of a sudden. Jon winked and mingled with the rest of the crowd.

 

 

As Thomas set foot into his own hotel room again, he almost got a heart attack.

 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Philip Crowborough sat in the living area of his room, still in his suit trousers and an undone shirt and Thomas couldn’t help himself, he almost looked as bad as he had after O’Brien’s drug incident. Pale, ruffled hair, bloodshot and glassy eyes.

 

“I’m sorry Philip, but you frightened me”, Thomas said once he had regained his composure. “What can I do for you?” he asked as the man on his sofa didn’t say a single word.

 

“You stayed out for quite some time”, the editor replied after some time.

 

Thomas was taken aback, “Uh ... yes. I thought you told me that I could have a drink or two. Sorry, did I miss something?” Philip shook his head. Theoretically, this had been a rhetoric question anyway. If there had been something wrong, his mobile would have rung until he would have picked up. As the editor didn’t say anything in return, Thomas almost got scared.

 

“Did something happen? Is something wrong with Sybbie?” Thomas asked while he slowly approached the sofa. He knew that Tom had arrived from Boston to take care of Sybbie until Philip would return again.

 

“Yes, something did happen but nothing with Sybbie. At least not yet ... Anyhow, I’m hiding. Can I continue to hide in your room Thomas?”

 

“Certainly”, Thomas said and sat down on the stuffed chair opposite of the sofa, “What happened? Can I help somehow?”

 

“Afraid not ...” Philip sighed and took another sip of his glass of brandy, which Thomas hadn’t acknowledged until then. Thomas cleared his throat uncomfortably.

After about a minute or two, Philip sighed. “Someone is blackmailing me into handing in my notice.”

 

“What?!” Thomas exclaimed.

 

“You’ve heard right. And I think that I am right in assuming it is that bloody bitch O’Brien again. Why else would that happen in Paris of all places, for fuck’s sake!”

 

Thomas tried to process what he had just heard, “But how? I mean, what would she have against you that could lead you to ...” Thomas gesticulated wildly, “... well, quit.”

 

“Enough I’m afraid.” Philip sighed and ran his hands over his eyes. At first Thomas thought that his ears betrayed him but as Philip started sobbing the 38-year-old had the confirmation for what he had presumed to hear. The assistant debated with himself what he should do now. What was the proper behaviour in a situation like this? After a few moments, he decided that there was only one option: He got up, sat next to Philip on the sofa and handed him a tissue.

 

“Thank you”, Philip sniffed, “Bloody hell!”

 

“But what is it that she has?” Thomas wanted to know again. He couldn’t imagine anything to be as terrible as it could lead to Philip Crowborough leaving his precious magazine.

 

“Let ...”, Philip cleared his throat, “Let’s just say compromising material. In a sexual kind of way ... Don’t ask me how she got hold of that.”

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows, “What on earth ...?”

 

“I don’t even know exactly what it is: films, pictures, the phone calls, e-mails, I don’t know. Maybe everything. She must have tricked him into handing it over to her.”

 

“Who?” Thomas wanted to know and Philip chuckled bitterly before he started elaborating:

“Kemal Pamuk. He had been my first assistant before Mary. And ... Well, he was handsome, God, was he handsome. So someday after a wild party I started an affair with him. And he was ... well, let’s say, into things I usually wasn’t into. But I kept playing along, it was good after all. Anyway, he started taking pictures, videos, the like. And once I stopped the whole thing because things got out of hand on his part, he wanted to blackmail me. But my lawyers silenced him, bless them, and he had to go. ... As I got to know today, they didn’t, however, keep him from giving the material of which he obviously still had copies somewhere, to a potential third party ...”

 

“Sarah O’Brien”, Thomas concluded.

 

“That fucking witch, I hope she’ll burn in hell for it”, Philip cursed. “Don’t get me wrong Thomas, it’s not me or my reputation I’m afraid of losing ...” Philip continued and Thomas only raised his eyebrows, “but what about Sybbie? What if word gets out that her father is a ... sick pervert. For heaven’s sake, she’ll start school next year, what about the other parents ...” Philip trailed off and started to sob heavily again.

 

_Shit!_ Thomas thought. It surely would be all over the newspapers and almost every parent would have read about the scandal of the famous Philip Crowborough.

 

“This might be a stupid question, but can I do anything at all to help?” Thomas asked after some time and he laid a (hopefully) reassuring hand on the other man’s shoulder.

 

The editor looked up at him with teary eyes, “You are helping, Thomas Barrow. I don’t know why but you are always helping me get through whatever it is.”

 

Needless to say, Thomas felt beyond touched at a confession like this. He even felt the same butterflies in his stomach again that had already been there the time Philip had kissed him – or requested Thomas to kiss him, rather.

 

“My lawyers are on it and I hope they’ll work something out”, Philip continued, “But for tonight, there’s nothing else we can do, I’m afraid.”

 

Thomas thought about something that might take the editor’s mind of things as his gaze fell onto his hand still resting on Philip’s shoulder.

 

“Do you want to know a secret of mine then?” Thomas asked and Philip smiled weakly, but nodded.

 

Thomas pulled his hand back and started to unbutton his black glove. “I noticed that you have noticed it”, Thomas smiled, “but you never asked about it. Even though you kept glancing at my hand.” The raven-haired man started pulling at each of the fingers of the glove, “As you have been telling me some of your secrets already ...”

 

“Which was bloody stupid in the first place, considering I am currently facing a blackmail attempt”, Philip joked and Thomas grinned but froze for a moment: “You know that I would never blackmail you, don’t you? I’d never do that, no matter how many _Sherlock_ -seasons you are requesting me to organize.”

 

Philip groaned, “Oh God, don’t remind me.” He hid his face behind his hands and Thomas smirked. Once Philip parted his fingers and looked through them at Thomas questioningly, he said, “I might owe you an apology for that one, truly.”

 

“I can’t argue with that ...” Thomas grinned.

 

“How did you do it?” Philip wanted to know but Thomas only shrugged, “Magic.” Both men grinned.

 

“Anyway, back to your hand”, Philip said and pointed to Thomas still glove-covered hand.

 

“Right.” Thomas nodded and removed the black glove with one swift movement.

 

“Dear God”, Philip exclaimed.

 

Thomas eyed the scar critically himself, “Yes, it’s nasty, isn’t it?”

 

“What happened?” Philip wanted to know.

 

“I had been fourteen. It was summer and I helped at my father’s shop – he is a clockmaker in Manchester, you see.” Philip nodded but didn’t reply, so Thomas continued, “Anyway, there had been this boy from the shop next door, Ian. We had known each other since we were kids, but well ... with puberty and me confirming at least to myself that I didn’t fancy girls as much as the other boys did, one thing had led to another – which meant Ian and me kissing in the backyard of my father’s shop. And one day he caught us. He got really angry, literally threw Ian out of his shop and threatened me to stop this ... this _foul behaviour_ of mine. And me, cheeky as you know I am”, Thomas cast his eyes up to meet Philip’s, who smiled in return, “I talked back. Bad mistake, that was. He grabbed me by my collar and pushed me against the wall of an old building next to the shop, which badly needed renovation. And due to that, a rusty nail pierced through my hand.” Philip winced. “So my dear father patched me up and checked me into a summer camp – where I got sick, due to all the bacteria in my hand. It got worse, swelled and everything. This is why it looks like it looks today. And of course it grew along with me. ... Now you know my little story. Not lighting the mood, am I?” Thomas chuckled bitterly.

 

“Can I ... touch it, Thomas?”

 

Thomas only nodded and watched Philip carefully placing his finger on the wound. “Does it still hurt?” the editor asked.

 

Thomas shook his head, “Usually I don’t feel it. Only if the weather gets colder ... or if it’s really damp.”

 

Philip let his fingers run over the scarred skin carefully. Thomas palm started sweating as he looked at the intense way Philip looked at the back of his hand. Suddenly, the editor took his hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the exact spot where the nail had pierced through his skin. Thomas breath hitched.

 

“It’s not nasty”, Philip said and looked up at Thomas with wide eyes. If Thomas saw correctly, his pupils were slightly blown.

 

The 38-year old cleared his throat, “Well, it’s not pretty either. But I considered it to be part of me and so I didn’t get surgery ... and because I couldn’t afford it.” Thomas’ chuckle got stuck in his throat as Philip placed another kiss onto his hand – this time into the palm. His wound had led to reduced feeling abilities in Thomas’ left hand, but still Philip’s lips felt so, so soft. Thomas let out a shaky breath and the editor looked up at him with a small smile, “Is this okay?” he asked and Thomas, on the other hand, asked himself what parallel universe he had landed in.

 

“Yes”, he croaked, “but ... I’m not sure we should be doing this ...” he added as an afterthought.

 

“Hmmm”, Philip hummed with his lips pressed against the back of his hand again, “Me neither.”

 

But as Philip looked up at Thomas sheepishly and with that damnable slight grin on his face, all reasonable thinking left Thomas’ head. The first time – or second time, considering the drug incident – their lips touched almost chastely, both men sighed into the kiss. Philip cupped Thomas’ cheek with one hand and pulled him in for another small kiss carefully, while Thomas gently squeezed Philip’s hand which was curled around his bad one. The raven-haired man felt Philip grin into the kiss and took this as a positive sign to end the torturing row of chaste kisses and experimentally let his tongue run over Philip’s lower lip. Thankfully, the editor seemed to share Thomas’ opinion and deepened the kiss.

 

After an amount of time none of the two men on the sofa could pin down exactly, Thomas found himself half sprawled on top of Philip, who had leaned back into the luxurious cushions. Thomas was running his hands over Philip’s exposed torso, his white and formerly pressed shirt hanging loose from his frame, while Thomas kept kissing the side of the other man’s neck. The editor on the other hand, had been panting into Thomas’ ear for quite some time and had his hands running up and down the back of the raven-haired man. Thomas briefly wondered how long it had been since he had been even remotely close to what happened at that moment – but considered after a repressed moan from the other man that it had been way too long, embarrassingly long really, anyhow. So he decided on pushing the ability to think to the back of his head for the night and rather letting his hand travel down the slightly hairy chest in front of him. Once he had reached the waistband of Philip’s trousers, the hand of the editor laid upon his own. Thomas pulled away slightly to have a better look at the dishevelled man in front of him.

 

“Too much?” Thomas asked.

 

Philip closed his eyes briefly and bit his lip, “I’m afraid if we don’t take a break, it’ll be over way too soon.” The editor looked almost apologetic.

 

Thomas grinned slightly and nodded, “I hate to admit it, but the situation appears to be quite similar with me.”

 

Philip smiled back at him, “It has been some time for you too then ...”

 

“More than I want to admit”, Thomas grinned sheepishly and Philip frowned. “What?” Thomas asked.

 

“So there really wasn’t anything between you and that ... Jimmy?”

 

Thomas laughed involuntarily, “We are really only friends ... who are flat sharing”, Thomas noted as Philip’s frown deepened, “But no, there hasn’t been anything apart from one disastrous kiss ... But ...” Thomas ran his hand through Philip’s hair, “that’s a story for another time. Right now, I would very much like to continue this not quite so disastrous kissing.” And with that he moved forward and claimed Philip’s lips once again.

 

“Let’s move over to the bed, or shouldn’t we?” Philip asked and Thomas swore the man in his arms blushed. So Thomas grinned, got up and led the other man over to the king-sized bed.

 

 

“Oh God ... Thomas!” the man under Thomas moaned. The 38-year-old had to admit that he himself was as well on the verge of losing his composure all together.

After both had moved from the sofa to the bed, it hadn’t taken too long for them to get rid of all of their remaining clothes. Thomas had enjoyed the time where both had taken their time to get to know the other one’s body immensely. Philip had guided Thomas’ hands over his torso, writhing deliciously as Thomas had sometimes followed the trail of his hands with his lips and tongue. Philip, on the other hand, had settled for fully exploring Thomas’ body with his lips, sometimes letting only his breath ghosting over various parts of the assistant. Sometimes, Thomas had shuddered, either because he was ticklish on the sides of his neck and the back of his knees, damn it, or due to arousal. Philip had always looked up at him with such childish joy that Thomas himself had to grin. At some point, where both of their members had been leaking heavily already, Philip had gasped, “Thomas please, now”. The other man had to admit that he was slightly shocked; somehow he had been under the impression that Philip would be the one on the giving end of things. Not that he minded. At all.

 

What a sight it had been to have Philip with his legs on Thomas’ shoulders, panting and sweating heavily, his lips forming a silent ‘o’ as Thomas had entered him slowly and carefully. The at first rather delicate and almost fragile sounds of Philip had soon given way to more explicit testimonials of pleasure as Philips had gripped Thomas arms in order to manoeuvre himself into the preferred position.

 

“Ah, oh ... oh yes ... oh fuck YES!” Philip shouted, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, as Thomas thrusts grew more frantic, his own climax approaching.

 

“Philip ... oh God, I ... ah ... I’m close ... I ...” Thomas stammered, hips slamming against the body underneath him.

 

“Uh ... Just – ah – Just keep going ... OH GOD!”

 

Thomas didn’t need much more after that; a few more thrusts and he was gone, flying over the edge with a cry that was half-shout and half-sob. He collapsed onto Philip, still panting while his cock released the last few spurts just as Philip gripped his shoulders tightly, threw his head back and shouted out his own climax while coming over both of their stomachs.

 

Minutes passed as both men simply lay there, panting heavily and casually caressing the others’ body. As Thomas pulled back, he saw the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed: Philip in complete and utter bliss, his eyes closed, lips slightly parted and therefore revealing some of the perfect teeth, a sheen of sweat glistening of his skin. Thomas reached up and pushed a damp strand of hair from Philip’s forehead. “They’re curly”, Thomas noticed and Philip grinned lazily before he opened his eyes.

 

“You have no idea how long it takes to straighten them out every day.”

 

Both men laughed and Philip leaned up for a chaste kiss. Thomas stroke over the other man’s hair again, which was indeed as soft as he had always imagined, went to the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth to clean them both up.

 

“Why are you so good to me?” Philip asked quietly and obviously already sleepy.

 

Thomas grinned, “Because you pay me.” Philip smacked him with the cloth and both men laughed. “Stay?” Thomas asked with his heart hammering against his chest. How often had men fled from his bed after that very question ... Thankfully, today was a happy exception.

 

“I’d love to”, Philip said and already crawled under the covers, holding them open for Thomas to slip in. As both had switched off the light, Thomas felt Philip practically melt into the warmth of his skin. After a brief moment of shock the raven-haired man started to chuckle.

 

“What?” Philip asked from somewhere below him, voice muffled from the expensive sheets.

 

“Nothing. Just ... I never considered you to be into cuddling.”

 

“Shut up!” Thomas could however feel the smile forming onto the editor’s lips against his shoulder.

 

 

As Thomas opened his eyes the next morning, he was immediately reminded of the by now quite surreal happenings of the night before. Had somebody told him when he started working at COUTURE that after about half a year, he would end up in bed with his boss, he would have sent them off to have them thoroughly checked. As of today, he greeted the new day with a smile, which happened rarely enough. By the time he felt awake enough to turn over in his oh so comfortable bed, he found the spot next to him empty though.

 

As Thomas sat up with a frown, his eyes fell onto a note folded neatly onto his bedside table.

 

_I had to go, straighten my hair and such. See you at the junket._

 

The initial panic that had gripped Thomas’ heart as there had been no one next to him anymore gave way to a stupid grin that stayed plastered onto his face until he did enter one of the hotels’ conference rooms that he had booked for today’s press junket.

 

Obviously, Mary Crawley was already there by the time Thomas arrived downstairs. It was her big day after all. Today Philip would announce the unisex clothing line and everything related to that very thing, including Mary’s supervision of everything. Mary already had a glass of champagne in her hand, which Thomas commented on, “It is bad luck to celebrate before the announcement; you do know that, right?”

 

Mary who doubtlessly looked her best in the champagne coloured dress with black borderings only rolled her eyes, “It’s not for celebration but for the nerves.”

 

Thomas chuckled and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You’ll do great”, he announced before he started to check the tables for any errors. Since the happenings at the gala, he and Mary had re-evaluated their relationship and were at the moment still teasing each other endlessly but on way more friendly terms than previously.

 

“Heaven’s! What happened to you last night?” Mary asked before she took another sip.

 

Thomas only smirked at her, “Now that would be telling.”

 

 

The press junket started really smoothly, nobody was late and once Philip arrived – fashionably late of course – everything could start just as Thomas and Mary had planned it. After a few words from the sponsors it was Philip’s turn to introduce first the designer and then lead over elegantly to Mary’s supervision of the whole project. Thomas, who was seated next to the woman, felt her tense up immediately. The second assistant tried to give her a reassuring look but wasn’t convinced that it helped.

 

“And so, ladies and gentlemen”, Philip went on standing out there on the podium in his impeccable suit, “it is my great pleasure to introduce the new supervisor of the campaign to you. ... Somebody I have known for quite some time now and I am lucky to be working with on a steady basis.”

 

Mary threw her hair back over her shoulder in preparation to get up, grin already perfectly in place.

 

“Sarah O’Brien.”

 

It was safe to say that neither Thomas, nor Phyllis and least of all Mary processed any of the applause, the fake smiles, handshakes, and kisses on the cheeks or O’Brien’s speech. Mary gripped the tablecloth so tightly that Thomas was afraid her fingers would break. Once he was able to shake off the shock and move again, he immediately handed Mary over his glass of champagne, which the woman drowned in one single gulp. Phyllis only looked onto the podium where Sarah O’Brien talked about what an honour it was to be in her place in complete and utter shock.

After a few moments Mary whispered presumably more herself than to anybody else, “He will make it up to me, I’m sure he will.”

 

“Do you really believe that?” Thomas whispered back, shooting daggers at the editor on the podium, who stood behind the woman with the mop of curly hair.

 

Mary nodded, again more to herself, “I must.”

 

 

After the press junket all of them were supposed to go to Lagerfeld’s fashion show. Mary insisted that she wanted to ride in her own car. Phyllis stated that he would drive with her anyhow, which left Thomas to drive with Philip – the man he thought he had gotten to know better but as it turned out, didn’t know at all. The editor didn’t even glance at him during the car ride; he solely was encompassed in his schedule once again.

 

Thomas tried really hard to fight the urge to say something but before he was about to explode, he whispered, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

 

Philip looked up at him with raised eyebrows, “I had to do that.”

 

“No!” Thomas exclaimed, bewildered all of a sudden. Maybe it was only the shock wearing off, “You did not _have to do that_. How could you do this to Mary?”

 

“But don’t you see?” Philip asked and by the tone of his voice Thomas once again felt like a small child who didn’t understand the ways of the world, “It was the only way of O’Brien keeping quiet and therefore keeping the magazine safe and out of scandal. Without that, we might all have been on the streets by tomorrow and Mary wouldn’t have a job at all.”

 

Thomas refused to believe what he heard, “I can’t even ... I couldn’t do this to people I cared about.”

 

“Oh but you already did”, Philip said, placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

 

“When? When did I do something as horrible as the thing you just did to Mary?”

 

“When you abandoned your apparently best friend and his birthday party to attend the gala”, Philip said calmly.

 

“That was different”, Thomas defended himself, “You told me I had to attend or otherwise ...”

 

“I’d fire you?” Philip completed Thomas’ sentence. “But don’t you see? You also did what you had to do in order to keep your job. Just as I have today.”

 

And with that, they arrived at the site and Philip graciously got out of the car. Thomas opened the door on his side dumbfounded and felt ... numb. While a few dozen photographers and journalists gathered around Philip, Thomas still stayed at the door of the car.

 

_Did I really become like that? A monster like he is?_ Thomas asked himself. He cast a look into Philip’s direction who was waiting for him to follow. The 38-year-old looked at the scene in front of him. Did he truly want this? So much that he sacrificed his whole life and his friends to that?

 

The man shook his head, pushed himself away from the car and walked into the opposite direction – away from Philip. Immediately, his phone started vibrating. The man took it out of his pocket, saw the caller ID – Philip, who else? – smiled down onto the little device and threw it into the upcoming fountain. Thankfully, there were a lot of those in Paris.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Thomas sat in front of his laptop and scrolled through his recently taken pictures – the ones for Alfred’s new website. Alfred actually was one of his new clients. Thomas needed to chuckle each time he thought about it.

 

After Thomas had basically fled from Paris before any of his former colleagues had returned to the hotel, he had entered a period of reflection – the result of which was that Thomas would like to take pictures rather than sit in an office all day and typing into his computer furiously. Maybe there also was an option for him being a photo journalist, rather than a foreign correspondent.

As he had only taken photo classes on the side of his studies, he needed to deepen his knowledge of the subject. So he took some more classes and applied as an assistant at a professional photographer. Even his short amount of time at COUTURE helped, so the job hadn’t been completely useless after all. His studies helped to keep his mind off the whole Philip-affair, as he had labelled it in his head. Still, thinking about his former boss, especially _that_ night, was painful. But Thomas was used to his private life going to pieces every now and then and so he managed to cope.

Another thing that helped with his new career as a photographer was Jon Kortajarena’s telephone number, which Thomas had kept on the napkin the model had written it on. The raven-haired man thanked the heavens every day anew that he didn’t simply put it into his phone (yes, the one that might still be on the ground of the fountain). Jon had been delighted to hear from Thomas and both arranged a date for a shoot – one that Thomas didn’t have to pay money for, thankfully. The day had been amazing and encouraged the 38-year-old that being a photographer was the right thing for him.

 

Now, about half a year later, he even had his very first clients; some who paid actual money, and some who paid him back in food, like Alfred. Thomas still continued his time as the assistant of the professional photographer, but still had enough time to spend on finding new and tending to his already present clients. And there was still time left to spend with his friends. Thomas was happy, for once.

 

 

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. “Thomas?”

 

The addressed man looked up and saw Jimmy sticking his head through the half open door.

 

“Yes, what’s the matter?” Thomas smiled back at his flat mate.

 

“Uh ...” Jimmy started but didn’t continue. Thomas only raised his eyebrows.

 

“There is a very bossy kid at the door who first asked if you lived here and second, if I was your boyfriend, in which case she would be very upset.”

 

Thomas frowned, but still got up and went to see who wanted to see him. Once he arrived at the door he couldn’t believe his eyes: “ _Sybbie?!_ ”

 

“Thomas!” the girl squealed and hugged Thomas’ legs. Jimmy looked at the whole scene with an unreadable facial expression. Thomas, a loss of words on his part, patted the head of the girl who stood in front of him in a red coat and with a huge backpack on her shoulders.

 

“Sybbie ... what are you doing here?” Thomas asked once the girl had let go of his legs and he, on his part, was able to kneel down in front of her. “Wait, are you here on your own?!” the 38-year-old exclaimed in shock as he realized that apparently, there was nobody else present on the corridor.

 

“Yes, I had to skip school early to come to visit. Because otherwise, John would have been there to pick me up and he would have taken me straight back home ... And I wouldn’t be here now, which would be a shame.”

 

“Who’s John?” Thomas asked and smiled at the dark-haired girl.

 

“Our new driver. He is married to my new nanny, Anna. And he limps.”

 

Thomas had to grin just before a not all too pleasant thought crossed his mind: _Does this account as kidnapping? Oh my God, Philip will murder me ..._

 

“Okay, could somebody please tell me what’s going on? _Like now?!_ Whose kid is this, Thomas?” Jimmy asked impatiently from the inside of the flat, which led to Thomas finally getting over his initial shock, letting Sybbie in and explaining everything to him flat mate after introducing the two strangers to each other properly. His story was enriched by Sybbie’s view if things from time to time, which made both men laugh quite frequently. So when everything appeared to be properly explained, Thomas came back to his initial point, “Sybbie, you really should be calling your father and tell him where you are ... or your nanny. Anna, wasn’t it?”

 

“Nope”, Sybbie said, her tights-clad legs dangling from their living room sofa.

 

“But your Papa will be very upset ...” Thomas tried again.

 

“He will be furious”, Sybbie confirmed. Thomas really couldn’t make anything of the grin on the six-year-old’s face. If she had already entered puberty, all right, but now?

 

“I really don’t get what’s so marvellous about that, my dear”, Thomas said.

 

Sybbie’s grin widened, “Because you have to escort me home, of course. And Papa will be there already from the office and you two will meet again and he won’t either be furious or sad anymore and everything will be fine.”

 

Jimmy, who by then knew everything that happened between Thomas and his former boss, looked as if he would burst with laughter anytime soon. Needless to say, that earned him a glare from the raven-haired man and a smile from Sybbie.

 

“Well”, Thomas started, “...it appears as if you have thought everything through then, haven’t you?”

 

The girl nodded, “Yes, it’s a precisely executed plan.” At the sight of an obviously absolutely satisfied Sybbie, Jimmy couldn’t hold his laughter back any longer. Thomas merely gaped at the girl in front of him.

 

“I don’t understand what’s so funny about this ...” Sybbie said indignantly ... and suddenly giggled, “Well, maybe because it’s just like in the story.” At raised eyebrows from both adults in the room, Sybbie started to explain:

 

“It’s the story my Papa had been telling me, Thomas knows about this.” A nod from said man, “It was about a knight in a ghastly armour who had to fight his way through a labyrinth of riddles and obstacles and monsters with only a magical pumpkin to help him during his adventures. And he managed to do so and got to the heart of the kingdom, which was what every other knight desired but ... once he had gotten there he felt kind of trapped between the walls and the etiquette and everything and so, he set out to find new adventures again but everyone in the kingdom hoped that one day, the knight would return. Just like Papa wants you to return.” Sybbie nodded to herself while Thomas was a loss for words.

 

“Does he really?” the man asked quietly after some time.

 

Sybbie seemed convinced enough, “He doesn’t say so, but I know he does. He said he had done something very stupid that upset you. ... I told him he should have apologized – like he always tells _me_ – but he didn’t. Which was very stupid in the first place.”

 

Thomas struggled for words that might stop the tears welling up in his eyes. Thankfully, he could always count on Jimmy, “Well, I expect that if Sybbie and I want to see any progress whatsoever on that one, we need a little help, don’t we?” He looked at Sybbie, who nodded enthusiastically.

 

Thomas asked himself what on earth Jimmy was getting his mobile for, but whished he hadn’t as soon as he heard the blonde saying: “Alfred! Yes ... We need a pumpkin!”

 

 

And so it happened that Thomas rung the bell at Philip Crowborough’s town house, a happy little Sybbie dangling from one arm and a pumpkin in his brown shoulder bag which they had picked up from _Alfred’s_ on their way. The tall red-head had initially presented him a full-size pumpkin which would have made every Halloween-party proud, but Thomas had refused – for obvious reasons. Riding the underground with that monster of a pumpkin while entertaining a girl who had made it her utmost goal to drive her father mad wasn’t something Thomas fancied all too much. Thankfully, according to Sybbie at least, Alfred had another, rather small pumpkin which Thomas could easily hide in his bag. According to the raven-haired man it wouldn’t have done any damage if there wasn’t any pumpkin involved in the whole matter. But anyhow, there they were. The former assistant couldn’t deny that his heart was beating furiously. Would Philip report him to the police for _‘withholding’_ his child? It was too late for those questions, Thomas realized, as the door opened and a much stressed looking blonde woman opened the door.

 

“SYBBIE!” she exclaimed and hugged the small girl tightly, “Where in heaven’s name have you been?”

 

“With Thomas!” the girl beamed up at the woman and hopped past her into the house.

 

The blonde shook her head and looked past the girl, Thomas taking the chance to introduce himself, “Thomas Barrow, who tried to convince the young lady to call – but fruitlessly so.”

 

He was happy to have brought at least a small smile to the woman’s face, “Anna, Anna Bates.” The blonde shook the offered hand, “I’m the new nanny.”

 

“So I’ve heard”, Thomas smiled, “Tell me, how furious is he by now?”

 

Anna grinned, “Past furious, bordering on devastated.”

 

“Oh dear”, Thomas managed before he heard Sybbie shouting loudly for her “PAPAAAA!” from inside. The dark-haired man sighed and looked past Anna, “I guess this is my cue to go into the lion’s den, then.” The nanny only cast a sympathetic look into his direction before stepping aside and letting him in – just in time to see Philip, on the verge of tears hurrying out of the living room.

 

“Sybbie! Oh thank God!” Philip picked up the girl from the floor and pressed her against him in a tight hug, blind to everything around them. Thomas stood into the entrance area of the house awkwardly, but still happy to see the Philip he did have the chance to get a few glimpses of.

 

“Papa, you’re crushing me!” Sybbie’s muffled protest reached Thomas’ ears after a few moments.

 

“Sorry ... Sorry, Sybbie. I was just ...” he sat the girl down in front of him and kneeled down before her, “I was just so worried about you, we all were. Where have you been?”

 

Sybbie cast her head down in a rather shy manner before she looked up again, “With Thomas.”

 

“Thomas ... What ...?” Philip asked and only then he seemed to realize that there were some other persons standing in the hall besides the two of them. As soon as Philip’s eyes lay upon Thomas, the relieved look on his face was replaced by a rather shocked one. The former assistant only waved at Philip and mouthed a “Hey!”

 

The editor started to wipe his eyes and got up, “Thomas ... what, what are you doing here?”

 

The 38-year-old cleared his throat, “Returning the little girl who happened to show up on my doorstep about an hour ago, I suppose.”

 

“Uh, yes. ... Yes, thank you.” Philip looked down onto the floor, apparently not quite ready to slip into his usually smooth editor-persona. An awkward silence settled in the room with Sybbie looking from one man to the other, obviously asking herself why nobody said a word. It was Anna, who broke the silence, “Sybbie, why don’t we take off your backpack ... and go to your room?”

 

“But I wanna see ...” the girl protested as soon as the woman had taken her hand and somehow – marvellously – manoeuvred the smart child out of the room.

 

“I’m sorry, I tried to make her call but ... well, she refused”, Thomas shrugged, carefully taking a step towards his former boss.

 

Philip, still not his usual self, chuckled silently, “I can well imagine. I ... I apologize you had to go through such troubles and bring her here. I imagine she has called the office for you adress ...”

 

“Oh, it hadn’t been trouble ... Far from it, actually.” Thomas smiled but Philip already turned away from him.

 

“Don’t think I am not grateful for what you did but ... I think it would be better if you were going now ...”

 

Thomas exhaled deeply. So that was how Philip wanted to play. Thankfully, he came up with an idea, “What if I had a very good reason to stay?”

 

The 32-year-old turned around again and frowned at Thomas, “Oh? And what would that be?”

 

The raven-haired man grinned sheepishly and let a hand slide into his bag only to take the small pumpkin out. It was a pleasure for Thomas to see Philip’s facial expression change from sceptical to frowning, to surprised, to realizing and then to embarrassed. “OH MY GOD!” he exclaimed and hid his face behind his hands. Thomas started chuckling immediately and still continued as Philip leaned against a stuffed chair in the hall.

 

“She didn’t tell you everything, please tell me she didn’t”, Philip whispered from behind his hands.

 

“Hm”, Thomas started, “I’d say she told me enough. Although I was surprised that you never used the word _ghastly_ to my face” he answered while taking a few steps in Philip’s direction.

 

“Well, it wasn’t quite so ghastly, it’s an exaggeration for the stories sake, you see”, Philip defended himself, but the other man only raised his eyebrows.

 

“And who were you then? The dragon?” Thomas asked mockingly.

 

Philip chuckled, “Obviously, I was the king.”

 

“Of course”, Thomas smiled and Philip nodded with a smile on his face.

 

“So, does this mean that you’ll come back?” Philip asked after a few more moments filled with silence.

 

Thomas, who had by then walked up closely to the editor, looked down on the pumpkin in his hand, “You mean to the castle with all the walls and etiquette and the king watching over it all?”

 

Philip nodded but Thomas sighed, “I’m afraid the knight in ghastly armour has to refuse.”

 

Philip frowned, “Excuse me?”

 

Thomas sighed and took another step towards the other man, “I still don’t want a life like that, Philip. I am happy now, having time off and everything, time for me and my friends. And I still wouldn’t want to work for a man who has to make decisions like the one in Paris – although I understand now that you had to.”

 

“Oh”, Philip sounded so heart-broken that Thomas almost felt bad, well almost. “I see ...” Philip continued and the raven-haired man could see tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“What I do want, though”, Thomas started and placed his hands – yes, one holding a damn pumpkin – on the editor’s hips, “is you Philip. The man who loses his nerve and flees the office because his daughter wasn’t picked up at school, who runs down the staircase in his boxer briefs and who tells stories about magic pumpkins. Who blushes and smiles and ... and has curls.”

 

Philip let out a small chuckle and Thomas smiled too before he cupped Philip’s cheek, “Do you think you can manage to be that person while you’re with me?”

 

The former assistant thought it was safe to say the other man’s smile could have lit up all of London, “Yes I think I can manage that” before he sealed their lips together in a caring kiss.

 

Thomas was sure that no one would blame him for letting the pumpkin drop to the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it then.  
> Thanks for keeping up with the story to all of my readers; and I want to thank those especially who took the time to comment on the fic and shared their thoughts with me. This really is what keeps me going and makes the whole thing interesting. So thank you again and see you around I guess ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you choose to comment on that, you are going to make my day :)


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